


A Reformation

by summerwines



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Aspiring Musician Mark, Barebacking, College-aged Characters, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Issues, Former Delinquent Mark, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Minor Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta, Minor Mark Lee/Original Character, Rimming, Underage Smoking, friends to strangers to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26315683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerwines/pseuds/summerwines
Summary: Years of going against the grain have left Mark completely exhausted. He wants to start anew, so he develops a plan: finish school, then leave for the city to pursue his music. Somehow, Donghyuck sneaks his way in, and while things do get muddled, they also get better.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 46
Kudos: 224





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few things:  
> \- So for some odd reason I’ve wanted to write Mark as a former delinquent (and Donghyuck as a former goth) for quite a while and I’ve basically written several drafts with just that idea in mind — different plots, most weren’t working—but then the idea for this came up, and well. The monster now breathes??  
> \- This includes references to some actual K-indie/R&B songs, plus a brief nod to a scene from Murakami’s Norwegian Wood.  
> \- For most of this fic, Donghyuck and Mark are in an established relationship.  
> \- There’s quite a bit of smut beginning Part 2.  
> \- Hope y’all enjoy!!!

**{part 1}**

Mark gets a lot of second looks when he walks the concrete steps toward Dasan Vocational. It’s almost as if he’s a walking exhibit, an unfathomable lifeform, a pair of legs that shouldn’t be roaming in a respectable place such as this.

A pair of girls murmur as he passes, and Mark vaguely hears them comment on the state of his hair: bowl cut on top, shaved at the sides. He doesn’t recognize them, but they might very well be from his high school class. Mark cloaks himself with his blue hoodie and avoids meeting anyone else in the hallways. Still, he bumps into two other guys who say that they know him from school and that he looks tougher now, yet somehow less scary at the same time.

“Thanks, I guess,” Mark mumbles, after one of the guys offers his hand for a shake. Their names escape him; his memories of high school are smeared and clouded.

The lady at registration lives on Mark’s street, so Mark’s presence surprises her just the same. Her face is quizzical from behind the window, and Mark hesitates before giving her his papers.

“Cybersecurity?” She reads slowly, while her spectacles glow. “You’re 100% sure?”

Mark deadpans and shrugs. “That’s what’s on the paper, right? Unless I spelled it wrong.”

She says he might do better in a less academic course, and at that, Mark has to arch a brow. His choice is final: a diploma on cybersecurity, with seminars five days a week.

“I’m not about to change just ‘cus you tell me to, okay?”

The lady narrows her eyes and crinkles her nose. She brings out a stamp and casts Mark one last look before slamming the purple insignia onto each form.

It’s a few thousand won to enroll, with government funds taking care of the rest. Mark pays upfront, in cash, with money he earned from his convenience store job. As he leaves, he counts how much he has left in his paper envelope and makes sure he still has enough for when he goes to the motor shop.

January’s unusually cold this year and Mark feels the brunt of it as he walks thirty minutes to the other side of town. The view of the gathering clouds serves as a minor consolation, as Mark trudges through a bridge, cement wet from the rains of the morning. In Seoul, it must be freezing, though transportation must be so much easier. There, he wouldn’t be limited by the dingy local buses. And the city would have so much more life, more sound, more lights. Right now, he’s more than 100 kilometers away from where he actually wants to be. For most of his life, he’s been stuck in this town, mid-sized and always covered in dust.

From a short distance, Mark sees another construction site — the second one he’s already passed. It’s a sign that he’s near the shop and that he’s about the be the proud owner of a Suzuki Address scooter.

Mark is 22, surely old enough to leave his parents’ house and ride off into the sunset to pursue his musical dreams. But his two-year stint at the military has left him thinking about his life choices. Before he can leave for Seoul to chase his aspirations, he has to earn a qualification and guarantee his parents have nothing left to nag him about.

Though when he comes home and pulls into the driveway with a brand new scooter, his parents scowl, and their faces tell Mark he’s found yet another way to disappoint them.

His father walks away to have his afternoon smoke, while his mother crosses her arms, face scrunched up. “How much was the downpayment?”

Mark murmurs the answer, “Around 70k.”

She shoots him a glare. “You should’ve used that money to rent your own apartment.”

Mark averts his gaze and sighs, caressing the handlebars of his scooter.

In bed, Mark daydreams of finishing school, shoving the certificate in his parents’ faces, and telling them to suck a homeless man’s dick. He dreams of driving his motorcycle across long distances and later on, being able to roam through city streets amidst neon lights. His cousin Taeyong will be there and as they’ve always planned, he and Mark will form a band and play their guitars on the cobblestones of Hongdae.

Taeyong often sends videos from his street gigs and Mark places himself in these scenes, among the crowds of shoppers and tourists. If he were there, Mark would get much less by way of money, but once Mark finds the time to write his own songs, he’s sure to catch more people’s attention.

His boyfriend Kanghoon is incredulous about his plans, “First of all, cybersecurity? You never told me you were good with computers.”

They’re cuddled up on the couch in Kanghoon’s apartment. Earlier, Mark had come over, kissing Kanghoon as soon as he entered the door and fucking him as soon as he got Kanghoon to go on all fours.

Mark hugs him, presses his bare chest against Kanghoon’s back, and tries to placate him, “Yeah, well, I’m not the best. But I can learn. I’m a fast learner.”

“Fast learner? Do you know how many times I tried to teach you to fry a fuckin’ egg? 20! Two zero.”

“This is different,” Mark says. He talks about his plans to move to the city once he finishes, and he tries to soften the blow of his confession by running his fingers through Kanghoon’s hair. But Kanghoon releases himself from Mark’s embrace the moment the words leave Mark’s mouth. They both sit up and Mark arches down, slumping while his hands are clasped between his legs.

“So this thing between us—What are we even doing? Fuck, Mark, what the hell?”

He doesn’t mean to hurt his feelings. Kanghoon had always been kind to him, ever since they first met in the military. They were the only gay men in their barracks, a fact Mark learned when he found a dirty magazine peeking out of Kanghoon’s pillow. Mark promised he wouldn’t tell anyone—Why would he, when he was the same? Shortly after, they started having all their breaks together and sneaking out in the dead of night, just so they could make out under the dim light of the communal bathroom. Kanghoon was only the third guy Mark had ever fucked, and he was by far the warmest out of all the three.

Mark attempts to change the subject, words muffled, “I bought a scooter too.”

“Great, just great. A fucking plus.” Kanghoon rubs his hands on his face and it sounds like he’s about to cry. Mark doesn’t know what to do with that. “You don’t give a shit about me.”

This is the last time he sees Kanghoon for a while. They break up the next day over a phone conversation that barely lasts five minutes. Soon enough, Mark begins his diploma program, where he finds himself zoning out now and again, thinking if there’s anything he can do to get Kanghoon back. But then two months pass, and then four. Mark grows out his hair, to a length that lets him hide his eyes. In no time at all, he’s on his second term and reconciling with the fact that he doesn’t care all that much to do anything for their broken relationship. They were bound to break up eventually.

On a Wednesday morning, Mark has a class on copyright and ethics, a boring subject that sends him to sleep in the last twenty minutes. No one bothers to wake him; none of his classmates even speak to him. He’s asleep long enough to have a dream, where he and Kanghoon are in an expanse of black. Kanghoon yells at Mark and tells him he’s ending up with nothing; that he was a fool. And that he needed to use more listerine, because he could no longer stand Mark’s fucking breath.

“Uh—Mark?”

Mark feels someone shake him and he snaps awake, the image of Kanghoon turning to dust.

When Mark sees who it is, his eyes bug out. He pulls up the hair over his forehead and finds that, yes, his eyes aren’t playing tricks. The boy who wakes him is a familiar face, curls on his head a shade of gold. His collared pink shirt and brow khakis are a total 180 from the way he used to dress in high school — skull t-shirts, ripped jeans, eyeliner, and tattered Converses.

“Donghyuck,” Mark goes. His head swerves around; some unfamiliar people are filling up the desks.

“Were you having a nightmare?” Donghyuck says, eyebrow raised.

Mark blinks, silent.

Donghyuck tucks in his lip before he speaks, “So, um, it’s nice seeing you again, but like—Our class is about to start and I assume you aren’t a merchandising student — unless.”

“Oh, shit.” Mark gathers his things, grabbing his backpack from the floor and getting on his feet, stiff as he meets Donghyuck’s gaze.

“I’ll see you around.” Donghyuck smiles and Mark nods. He hurries toward the door, though he stops and holds the frame, looking back to make sure this isn’t just a sequel to his dream. Donghyuck meets his eyes from where he sits, then he smiles and waves. Mark blushes and waves back.

Three years. That’s how long it’s been since he last laid eyes on Lee Donghyuck. It was the day after their high school graduation, which Mark didn’t attend. He regrets it now, but at the time, he thought he was above things like that, and opted instead to smoke in the park with his friends. He remembers being with Sicheng and Yuta as they sat on a concrete bench behind the men’s restroom at the local park. The three of them had common traumas: neglectful parents, a lack of prospects as they moved forward in life. And he also remembers their common desires: to get wasted every chance they got, and specifically, to get wasted at Kim Jungwoo’s house party, which happened the next day. They were all nineteen, so they were free to fuck around however they wanted.

Thirty minutes into the party, Sicheng and Yuta were already drowned in booze, but Mark distanced himself and tried his best to take it easy. Many of their classmates were having their first taste of beer, but for Mark, the buzz of liquor was already familiar. He grabbed a couple bottles from the cooler in Jungwoo’s kitchen and left the others to have their fun. He ambled toward a spot at the side of the house and sat on the grass where no one would disturb him. Against the wall, Mark reclined, then he lit up a smoke and took slow sips from a bottle.

Stumbling out the backdoor was Donghyuck, finding Mark as he was about to open his second beer. Donghyuck dressed as if he were auditioning for a punk band. His hair was a bright purple and his jeans were in tatters.

“You’re free to stay if you want,” Mark told him. The two of them used to be close back in primary school, though they drifted apart after falling in different crowds. Both were their own brand of loser. Donghyuck’s friends were the type to say they hated the world even though they lived comfortable lives in big houses. Meanwhile, Mark’s friends were the deadbeat, stoner kids who barely passed any of their subjects.

They were silent for a time, as Donghyuck sat beside him, leaning back against the same wall. All they had was the dim light above them, plus the moths that Mark had to swat away now and again. Inside, the party raged, music loud behind the walls.

Donghyuck broke the dead air: “You weren’t at graduation.”

Mark blew out some smoke and Donghyuck folded his legs against his chest, his bottle placed atop the dried grass.

A morsel of grass burns to ash when Mark throws out his cigarette. He could feel Donghyuck looking at him, but Mark felt too conscious to meet his gaze. “Yeah, well. Other things to do, you know?”

“I figured,” said Donghyuck. “What do you plan to do anyway? After all this.”

“Well—” Mark considered what he should say, and decided to go with the truth, “I’m heading for the military as soon as I turn 20, then I guess we’ll see what happens after that.”

“Military already? You didn’t apply for uni? I heard your grades weren’t that bad.”

Mark sighed and shook his head. “And where’d you hear that from? Pretty sure I only got C for math ‘cus our teacher’s got a crush on me.”

“Gross. But also—kind of true.”

Mark chuckled. Still, he didn’t dare lay an eye on Donghyuck.

“You know—There were some guys in there who started a bet about you.”

“Let me guess. They think I’ll start a fight or some shit?”

“Yeah.” Donghyuck nodded. “I don’t know why everyone’s so afraid of you. You’re just Mark.”

“People will think what they think,” said Mark, then sighed, “I don’t even remember the last time I fought a guy.” Though it must have been when Mark was eighteen and an older kid called him a faggot. Mark smiled at the memory.

Silence fell, albeit partnered with the drums from behind the walls. The smile disappeared from Mark’s face and he felt a trickle of sweat dripping down his forehead. He lowered his chin and continued to drink.

“Why can’t you look at me, Mark?”

Mark glanced at him, quickly, and saw the expression on his face: sad, hurt, pleading. It didn’t match at all with the whole facade of his clothing.

“You really think I owe you an explanation for that? Just leave me alone.”

“I know you don’t owe me shit. But—” Donghyuck’s head descended to his knees. “I still want to know you’ll be okay. I worry about you.”

Mark didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t bother saying anything at all. He scratched his nose, and then placed a hand behind Donghyuck’s head. He offered a slow caress.

Donghyuck stared at him, bug-eyed. Mark tightened his lips. He was the cutest boy in their grade, Mark always thought.

“C’mere,” Mark said, inviting Donghyuck to his side.

He nuzzled against Mark and cooed when Mark pressed his lips on the purple of Donghyuck’s hair, a soft kiss on Donghyuck’s temple.

“I think I might be tipsy,” Donghyuck said.

Mark hummed in agreement.

“I miss when things were simpler.” Donghyuck looked at Mark and Mark looked back this time. They both sighed. “Sometimes I wonder—what it would’ve been like if you and I had stayed friends.”

“We would’ve driven each other crazy,” said Mark.

Donghyuck shook his head. “I think it would have been fun. But who knows, right? What’s done is done.”

Mark nodded.

They stayed like that for a while but had to part as more people exited the house. The inevitable happened and they went their separate ways, to their own groups of friends. Their eyes met once from across the living room and Mark meant to go over to say goodbye as the party ended. But he got too wasted and dizzy, so he forgot. Yet another thing he regrets.

‘ _Good luck Mark,”_ was Donghyuck’s text the next day, followed by, ‘ _You’re gonna need all the luck in the world, you sorry fucker.’_

Mark laughed. He doesn’t recall if he ever texted back — probably not, considering his headspace at the time. If that were to happen now, Mark would reply, and he might invite Donghyuck to go out, have some lunch, and perhaps take Donghyuck back to his bedroom, see what happens from there.

Donghyuck’s in his mind for the rest of the afternoon. He tries to distract himself with some exercises, music loud enough to get his father to bang on the door. Mark concedes and lowers the volume as he continues to punch the air.

Seeing Donghyuck today lit up a spark inside Mark that he kept dormant for three long years. That evening, Mark goes to his part-time job at the local Sun Mart and finds himself resisting the urge to check if Donghyuck still has the same number. As he fills the stock in the drink aisle, a list of questions runs through his head: If he texts Donghyuck, will he reply? If he invites him to catch up, will Donghyuck accept? Judging from the smile on Donghyuck’s face, he just might. The thought is enough to send a pounding in Mark’s heart.

Two days later, Mark tests a theory and stays a few minutes after his 10 AM class. He leans by the door and soon enough, sees Donghyuck walking the hallways. He stops for a second when he sees Mark, then he grins from ear to ear. He’s in yet another pastel shirt, blue this time, and his hair is styled in a quaff. Beautiful in Mark’s eyes.

“Hey,” says Mark. He shakes his head in an attempt to fix his mop of hair. Suddenly, he feels sorely underdressed compared to Donghyuck. He’s in jogging pants and a black jumper; he usually never bothers wearing anything different. “I’m glad I caught you.”

“I was wondering when I’d see you again.” He beams as he grabs the strap of his sling bag. “How’ve you been Mark?”

“Been good.” Mark nods. “Yourself?”

“Fine, all things considered.”

Mark has a thousand questions he wants to ask. How is his family? Why isn’t he at uni? Why are his clothes all different? And why blonde, of all the available colors?

“I wanted to ask if you—Maybe wanted to have dinner tonight. To—you know, catch up and stuff.”

“Tonight? Ah, fuck. I can’t. I got work. How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s okay too.” Mark doesn’t waste a second to reply. “I can do tomorrow. Yeah, let’s meet. Have you—um—” He scrambles to get his phone from his bag. “Have you still got the same number?”

“Oh, no, from high school you mean? I changed it recently. Gimme your phone, I’ll type it down.”

Mark obliges and lets Donghyuck save his number into his contacts. He names himself _Donghyuckie,_ which Mark finds odd.

“My class is about to start. So I’ll see you tomorrow night, ok?”

Mark nods. “Yeah, tomorrow, totally. I’ll text you the details.”

“You do that.” Donghyuck smiles, and shortly after, he has to leave.

That night, Mark is off from his job so he spends some time writing songs on a notebook: _I can be your morning star / And you be my angel_. They’re cheesy lines that might never find a melody, though he takes a picture of his scribbles and sends them over to Taeyong anyway.

 _‘What do you think_?’ Mark asks.

‘ _What brought this on?’_ Taeyong says. ‘ _I thought you broke up with Kanghoon._ ’

‘ _I did,’_ says Mark. ‘ _It’s not about him.’_

_‘I see.’_

Taeyong doesn’t reply after that, which is fine by Mark. The words probably aren’t very good; he knows that, but it’s impossible for him to keep this all to himself.

Mark decides to take Donghyuck to the lone pizza place that exists in town, one of the only semi-fancy locations he can think of. He puts on a yellow polo shirt and skinny jeans. On his hair, he smears a handful of pomade which he steals from his father’s closet. Neither of his parents asks where he’s going that night; they never do, not since Mark turned nineteen and started leaving the house at unholy hours.

When Donghyuck sends over his address, he gives the name of an apartment building in town, so Mark wonders if Donghyuck no longer lives with his parents. He used to live on the same street, a short distance that Mark often walked when they were kids.

Mark drives his scooter to Donghyuck’s and discovers he lives in a low-rise building where all the doors are visible from the outside. Instead of sending Donghyuck a text, Mark climbs the stairs to the second floor and knocks on Donghyuck’s door. This way, he’ll be able to chance a glance at Donghyuck’s living space. He hears Donghyuck’s voice through walls — “Give me a second!” he goes, and then a door slams inside.

“Yo.” Donghyuck reveals himself and the smile on Mark’s face is automatic. He’s wearing a yellow cardigan over a white t-shirt — perfectly soft.

Mark gets distracted for a second, but then remembers that he wanted to have a look at Donghyuck’s apartment. He tilts his head to that side and takes a mental picture of Donghyuck’s small, studio-type flat. There’s a futon on the floor at the corner of the room, and a mat where a pile of Donghyuck’s clothes are stacked. The place looks too compact for multiple people.

At first, Donghyuck is reluctant to ride on Mark’s motorcycle, but Mark assures him it’s completely safe. “Just hold on to me,” he says, knowing the full implication.

Donghyuck gulps before he wears the extra helmet.

It’s only a ten minute ride to the pizza place, but Donghyuck’s hands shake on Mark’s stomach the whole way through. He’s obviously never ridden before, and this is all the more obvious as he gets off on the sidewalk. He clutches at his heart and heaves out a single gasp.

“Damn,” goes Donghyuck. “That was really, truly something. How do you even do that on a daily basis?”

Mark shrugs. “I dunno, I just do,” he says. “And I thought you were supposed to be fearless and shit. You used to be all punk and rock and roll back in high school”

A blush rises in Donghyuck’s cheeks, and he avoids Mark’s eye. “That was just a fashion statement. That I’ve now grown out of. Also, being punk and having vehicular anxiety are two things that can coexist.”

“Ah, I see.” Mark nods, though he doesn’t completely understand.

Inside the restaurant, they find a space in one of the booths and order a garlic shrimp pizza to share. As they wait for the food, they get some basic things out of the way: Mark’s taking cybersecurity, while Donghyuck’s doing his diploma on entrepreneurship. Mark says he finished his military service more than seven months ago, and Donghyuck says he hasn’t done his, though he might plan to do it in a couple years. Mark still lives with his parents, and just as Mark guessed, Donghyuck lives alone. He says he doesn’t talk to his parents, not since he dropped out of university. Though he does speak to his brother, who visits him now and then.

“You dropped out?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to. My parents just stopped paying for my tuition.”

Mark’s eyebrows furrow. “Why’d they stop paying?”

“There were a couple reasons. Mainly because their son’s a raging homosexual.”

“Oh.” Mark is taken aback. The waiter arrives with their pizza, which lets off a pungent smell, a mix of the garlic and cheese.

Donghyuck takes a slice and puts it on his plate, “I’m guessing that won’t be a problem? I mean, unless the rumors aren’t true?”

“Rumors?”

“That you’re gay, Mark. Everyone at school talked about it. I didn’t think it had a lot of grist at first, but, I mean. You never had any interest in girls, so I thought that it might be true?”

“It is.” Mark sighs, then leans back. Donghyuck covers his mouth as he takes his first bite of the pizza.

“Plus there was that one time—when you kissed me right here.” Donghyuck points to his temple, then smiles. “So like, I dunno. If that wasn’t a sign, then, well.”

Mark feels a rush of heat on his neck. He starts to eat, feeling suddenly famished. The quiet builds, and a strange tension bleeds between them.

“You wanna come to my place after this?” Donghyuck asks. His head is lowered and he’s using a fork to cut up his second slice.

“I dunno. I got work tomorrow morning, and like—I gotta, um.”

Their eyes meet. Donghyuck licks his lips. “Are you sure?”

Mark doesn’t have enough strength to lie. And there’s no way Mark can deny him, not when Donghyuck looks the way he does.

In the minutes that follow, Mark and Donghyuck reminisce about their childhoods. Donghyuck recalls the time when he and Mark used to go to the public pool during the summers and how they used to buy pastries at Mr. Lim’s bakery after every swim. Mark remembers being in fifth grade and burning a CD full of hiphop songs that he made Donghyuck listen. Donghyuck remembers not liking a single one. They try to recall the exact time when they stopped being friends, though they never come to an agreement.

“Probably when I met Sicheng,” Mark says. “I hung out at his place way too much when we were fifteen.”

“I remember keeping my distance ‘cus you were smoking like a chimney. I don’t think you met Sicheng or even Yuta yet, when you started. And thinking about it, you started smoking straight out of middle school. What the fuck was that?”

“Guess it doesn’t matter now does it?” Mark barely smokes anymore, and he doesn’t remember the last time he talked to Sicheng or Yuta.

“Sure,” says Donghyuck. “I guess you can say that.”

Later, Donghyuck still hesitates to ride behind Mark, and he confesses he’s got a phobia on account of his brother’s accident the previous year. Nothing major, but enough to give Donghyuck some irrational fears.

“Like I said, just hold on to me.”

This seems to be enough to calm Donghyuck down, at least for the moment.

Donghyuck is pale when they arrive and Mark tries to soothe him, asks him to breathe, holds his shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m okay—Let’s get going. I think I’m about to puke.”

Once they reach Donghyuck’s apartment, he immediately runs to the bathroom, which leaves Mark to ogle at Donghyuck’s space. He’s got a kitchen, dining area, living room, and bedroom all packed into one. There’s a foldable table with a scent diffuser, a paperback split open, and a tupperware full of crackers. He’s got two chairs around the table, one of them likely saved for his brother’s visits. There isn’t a TV, though he does have a laptop sitting on yellow cushions laid out on the floor. At edge of the room is Donghyuck’s futon, the sheets checkered, wrinkled and well-worn.

Mark takes a seat on a cushion, then makes some space by putting Donghyuck’s laptop on the rug in the middle of the room, the one where Donghyuck’s clothes sit in a pile. There’s barely any decor around the walls, except for a single family photograph that hangs by the kitchen. Mark wonders why Donghyuck does that to himself, despite everything that’s happened.

Donghyuck returns, face wet as he offers a smile. He takes a towel from his dresser drawer, and he wipes his face before chucking it into the hamper. “Do you maybe want some tea? Or—do you want liquor? I got beer.”

“Beer’s okay,” says Mark, which is how he ends up sitting with Donghyuck side by side, sipping bottles of Hite, extra cold, in silence.

“Now isn’t this eerily familiar?” Donghyuck says, then laughs.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember? The house party, Mark.”

“Ah, right.” Mark shakes his head and realizes that Donghyuck’s right. The beer bottles. The wall behind their backs. The awkward silence. It’s all very familiar.

“I’ve never had a boy in my apartment before,” Donghyuck says. “It feels kind of surreal.”

Mark eyes him. “You never bring guys up here to do stuff?”

“Nope. But I’m not a virgin, okay? I just don’t host, like, ever.”

“Why not?”

“Look at this place.”

“I think it has its charms.”

Donghyuck lets out a high-pitched chortle that makes Mark worry that he’s said something offensive. But the chortle turns into full-on giggles, which Donghyuck tries to hide behind his hand.

“You’ve changed, Mark.”

“So have you, man.”

“You’re so much more of a loser.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“I’m kidding though.” Donghyuck leans back and takes a sip of his beer. “You’re so much cuter now. Or rather—maybe cute’s not the right word.”

Mark meets Donghyuck’s gaze, and he reclines in a way that lets him see Donghyuck’s face, all its dots, the red rushing to his cheeks. “Then what word _does_ suit me?”

“Handsome,” says Donghyuck. They smile at each other.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Oh I know,” says Donghyuck. Mark likes it when boys are cheeky. Donghyuck, he knows, has always been that way: confident but never arrogant, vocal but never overbearing. Those are a couple of things that haven’t changed.

They’re about to kiss; he’s sure they are. Mark is ready for it. Subconsciously, he’s been preparing for this from the very first moment he saw Donghyuck in that classroom, where Donghyuck shook him awake. His lips are a tender red, and Mark wonders how they might feel on his mouth, on his skin, around his cock.

But then the sirens come, loud as they resound through Donghyuck’s windows. Donghyuck’s eyebrows furrow and Mark bites his lower lip in frustration. They stand, pull open the sliding doors to the balcony, and go out to see the commotion.

A firetruck passes through the street and from a short distance, Mark sees plumes of smoke rising in the night sky.

A few of Donghyuck’s neighbours are there on their decks as well, and they murmur while taking shots of the rising smoke, the flash of their cameras disturbing the darkness.

“What in God’s name could that be?” Donghyuck brings out his own phone to take a video. There’s a construction site that blocks their view, but the tips of the orange flames are nonetheless visible.

“Does it matter?” Mark says, scratching the back of his head.

Donghyuck shrugs. “I don’t think there’s been a fire in this town—since—well, I don’t actually remember. _Has_ there ever been a fire around here?”

“Dunno, there might have been one in the 70s. A big one.”

Donghyuck grabs Mark’s arm. “You should help me pack.”

“What?”

“I mean, if the fire expands, I’ll have to be ready with all my valuables. My ID, cash, essential clothing, things like that”

“Are you serious?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Doesn’t this seem like a nice time to kiss though?”

Mark licks his lips. “In the middle of a fire?”

“Yeah, adds more drama, the kind of thing that’ll stick to your memory.”

Mark looks around. The neighbors are busy gawking at the scene; the others have already gone inside, unconcerned.

Before Mark has the chance to do anything, Donghyuck pulls Mark down by hem of his shirt and brings their eyes at the same level. Donghyuck smiles before he breaks the space between them, pressing his lips onto Mark’s.

He clings to Donghyuck, arms around his back. The air has a molten stench, and the red lights of another passing firetruck flicker against their skin. Theirs is a soft and gentle kiss that has Mark feeling strangely nostalgic. Donghyuck hums, and he smiles as they move their lips against each other. Mark sucks on Donghyuck’s lower lip, and makes Donghyuck moan.

Their arms are tight around each other’s bodies as they stumble back into the flat and fall onto Donghyuck’s futon. Mark drapes himself over Donghyuck and he feels a pull on his shirt collar, Donghyuck’s hands lifting them. In time, Mark sneaks his way into Donghyuck’s shirt, feeling the warmth of his stomach and the tender plush of his nipples.

He still tastes their dinner in Donghyuck’s mouth, though he doesn’t know if this is from Donghyuck or him. He cares very little, because Donghyuck’s tongue is soft and he’s looking at Mark with such desire as they lick at each other’s mouths. And Donghyuck’s grip on his back makes him feel strong; it makes him feel like someone to be relied on. The emotion is new-fangled, and he doesn’t know how he managed all these years without it.

The acrid smell reaches the room and Mark has to use his feet to kick the sliding doors to the balcony closed. He’s unable to do it, so he has to sit up and use his hands. When he turns back, he finds Donghyuck with an arm over his eyes and his chest expanding.

“Fuck, Mark, that was amazing.”

Mark smirks and slumps back down, moving his lips against Donghyuck’s neck. Donghyuck whimpers and one of his hands move to find Mark’s.

“Wanna fuck?” Mark whispers, right in Donghyuck’s ear.

Donghyuck’s mouth tightens.

“I dunno if I can.”

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, that’s okay. I don’t wanna force you or anything.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not. Really. I mean, I’m not gonna lie. I’m a bit—turned on. But like, I’m fine with just this. Kissing you. Touching you like this. That’s all I need.”

Donghyuck looks pained by what he hears. “When did you get so sweet?”

“Me? Sweet?”

“Yeah, sweet. Like candy.” He swallows, then brushes a finger against the hair over Mark’s ear. “Will you stay the night?”

“Only if you want me to.”

Donghyuck nods. “And maybe you could—spoon me?”

Mark smiles. “You don’t even have to ask.”

They find the right position, with Mark’s chest against Donghyuck’s back. Their legs tangle like the roots of a tree and Mark’s nose finds a home against Donghyuck’s shoulder. Mark thinks Donghyuck must be lonely, living alone like this. Mark commiserates. Every day, he feels like no one understands him. But as he hugs Donghyuck, a body so familiar, he finds all that loneliness wash away.

He doesn’t know what he expected out of the night. There’s no denying that he felt a strong attraction to Donghyuck the moment he saw him. But whether or not Donghyuck would reciprocate was up in the air. He’s definitely thankful for how things turned out. And weirdly enough, he’s thankful for the fire.

Mark wakes to the sound of music, a faint tune from what Mark believes is a drama soundtrack. The sound is from Donghyuck’s phone, which sits on his foldable table. Donghyuck hums, then sings, then hums again. Mark hears the hiss of an egg on the frying pan and it makes his stomach grumble.

He sings along once he gets a hang of the chorus. He stays on the futon, eyelids shut as he warbles the melody. Donghyuck’s voice grows louder, more confident. They find a harmony that they keep until the very end of the song, notes from a piano in a minor key.

The next song is more lively, which gets Mark to stand and wrap his arms around Donghyuck’s body. Mark rocks them together to the beat of the song. Donghyuck kisses his cheek, before he asks him to scram, “Or I’ll burn the friggin meatloaf.”

Donghyuck’s cooking is something else — not particularly special in the way it’s presented, two eggs and a slab of meat set down on a plate. But when Mark takes his first bite, chopsticks gripping the oily egg for dear life, he finds the heat and the salty flavor reminding him of a home he never had.

When the clock strikes 9, Mark has to run, since he has to be at the convenience store in an hour and still has to get ready. Donghyuck kisses him by the door and tells Mark to call him as soon as he can. “You won’t run away from me, okay?”

“Never,” says Mark, holding his face and kissing him squarely, once on the lips and then below his chin.

Mark cruises on his scooter and passes the burned building, a commercial establishment whose walls have been raged and blackened. There’s a yellow line in front of the parking space; some uniformed individuals go in and out trying to salvage any item they can find. Mark sends Donghyuck a picture.

 _‘There was a cafe on the first floor,’_ he says, followed by a sad face, and then ‘ _I used to go there all the time.’_

‘ _We’ll find other cafes,_ ’ Mark replies, though he feels sort of bad, using something so horrendous as an opportunity to flirt.

When he returns home, his mother is washing the dishes. Mark greets her and he gets a grunt for a reply. He whistles as he takes a shower and sings while he puts on his work uniform. He looks in the mirror, combs his hair, and feels pleased with himself. Last night, Donghyuck said he was handsome, and just this once, Mark is letting a compliment get to his head.

He’s on duty at the register today, so it involves mostly sitting on his ass for most of the afternoon while his co-worker Seulgi is busy with inventory.

“You look weirdly chipper,” Seulgi says, while she brings out a new stock of chewing gum packs to hang up by the counter.

Mark avoids her eye. “Me? Chipper? Dude—I mean, you’re not a dude, fuck, sorry. Anyway. I’m not acting weird. I’m completely normal.” A customer is searching through the snack aisle, and Mark wishes they would come sooner so he can steer clear of this conversation.

Seulgi rolls her eyes. “Men always act this way after getting laid. You’re being way too obvious.”

“That’s not true, like at all.” Though whether he got laid or not would not have been important; Mark would have still wound up with this light and airy feeling.

Customers come and go; Mark scans one bag of chips and a pack of cornflakes, then a can of beer, once and then twice, and then a few more times. He has a 15-minute lunch at one in the afternoon, and then a quick break for a snack at five. His weekend shift ends at eight, and he rushes to put on his t-shirt and coat as soon as he’s able.

He walks out the doors and is about to bring out his phone to send Donghyuck a text when he hears a familiar voice, along with the laughs of another.

Kanghoon stops in front of him, with another man’s arm hooked around his shoulder. Mark’s eyes widen and so do Kanghoon’s.

The other man, tall and bearded, does a double-take at Mark and Kanghoon. Mark thinks Kanghoon looks more handsome than he ever did when they were dating. His hair is shaven at the sides; his arms still have that faint outline of muscle.

“Something the matter, Hoony?” the man says.

“You go ahead inside,” Kanghoon tells him. “This will only take a minute.”

Mark swallows. “How have you been?” he asks, as soon as the other guy walks into the store.

“Been okay,” he says. “As you might be able to tell—I’m seeing someone now.”

“That’s good.” Mark nods.

“What about you? Are you dating?”

Mark shrinks, and sighs, “Sort of.”

“Oh wow. Does he know what you plan on doing?”

“He doesn’t.”

“When do you plan on telling him?” Kanghoon regards him, and Mark isn’t sure what to answer.

“We just started dating, so I don’t know how that’s important.”

“How long will it be till you have to leave?”

Mark does the math. “About a year, I guess.”

“So you’re just gonna keep breaking hearts till then, am I right or—am I right?

“Kanghoon—That’s unfair. You don’t—Fuck, you don’t know anything.”

“I guess I don’t.” Kanghoon shakes his head, then laughs. “I didn’t even know how much you liked to sing. You never told me anything, Mark.”

He leaves Mark lonesome on the street, and Mark takes one look back, to see Kanghoon’s happy face as he sneaks a kiss of the other man’s cheek. Mark bows his head.

‘ _Can I come over?’_ he asks Donghyuck.

‘ _No way!_ ’ he writes, and then, ‘ _I’m joking haha. Actually out but I’ll be there in five minutes.’_

 _‘Perfect,_ ’ says Mark. ‘ _I’ll see you there.’_

The road to Donghyuck’s feels long and torturous even though it barely takes ten minutes. Donghyuck isn’t there when Mark arrives, so he sits outside Donghyuck’s door, knees bent, eyes needing rest.

He hears footsteps rushing up the stairs and sees Donghyuck emerge, all sweaty and hoarse. His uniform is a black set with _Ja Kyung’s Noodle_ written in white letters on Donghyuck’s left breast. Mark looks up at him and smiles.

“Hey,” says Donghyuck. “Sorry I took long. I just got out of work.”

“Ja Kyung’s Ramyun?”

“Yeah, you should go sometime.”

Mark extends his arm and grabs one of Donghyuck’s hands. He sends a pleading look Donghyuck’s way, “You’re so fucking cute.”

 _“_ Mark, c’mon, let’s go inside.”

Mark nods, and Donghyuck helps him up.

“Did you walk here?” Mark asks, as he hangs his coat on one of the hooks by the doorway.

“More like ran,” Donghyuck says, and lets out a whistle.

“Ran? How long does it usually take?”

“Walking, maybe 15 minutes. Running, maybe 10 or so.”

“You do that every day?”

Donghyuck shrugs, then makes his way for the bathroom.

“Can I use your shower?” Mark says, outside the doorframe. “After you, that is.”

“For sure,” he replies, then starts to hum.

Mark hears the flush of the toilet and the drip of the faucet. Yesterday, he noticed the strong minty smell on Donghyuck’s hair, so he’s curious about what shampoo he might have, what soap he lathers on his body.

It takes a few minutes for Donghyuck to finish and Mark finds him looking fresh as a towel hangs around his shirtless torso. Mark rises from the cushions and approaches Donghyuck as he rummages through his dresser. Mark touches the garter of Donghyuck’s shorts, which makes Donghyuck look, and smile, and lean up so he can give Mark a quick kiss on the lips.

Mark blushes and kisses Donghyuck a second time. “This is great and all,” Donghyuck says. “But you smell kinda bad.”

“Don’t care.” Mark wraps Donghyuck in a hug, and Donghyuck pats his head.

“Mark, take a shower. Please.”

He makes it quick, using a copious amount of shampoo from a dark blue bottle, one of few from inside a basin on the tiles. Mark notices a red bottle for hair dye and imagines what Donghyuck might have looked like with crimson hair. He remembers Donghyuck in blue, purple, gray, and now blonde, but never red.

In a few minutes, he’s done and he decides to go out shirtless, simply putting on his underwear and jeans. Donghyuck is lying on his floor mattress when Mark returns. He’s on his side, quiet as he faces the wall. He’s left enough space for Mark, so Mark nuzzles his body beside him, then he circles his arm around him, making Donghyuck moan in delight.

There’s a lot that Mark wants to say. He wants to ask who Donghyuck’s favorite musicians are, and he wants to tell him about his plans to move to the city. He wants to ask if Donghyuck will come with him once they’re both done with school, once he has enough money to rent a decent apartment. He never bothered asking Kanghoon, but with Donghyuck, Mark thinks he might be willing. It might be too much to ask, since they only started dating — or at least, Mark assumes they’re dating, because what else would this be?

Mark doesn’t say any of that and thinks back to all the things Kanghoon said to him. He’s a selfish fuck; that much he knows. What he wants might not be what Donghyuck wants. They barely know each other, even though they’ve already been in each other lives for as long as he can remember.

He wraps his arms around Donghyuck’s shoulders and chest, and he kisses Donghyuck an inch below his ear. Donghyuck begins to doze off, likely weary from his day.

“This is nice,” Donghyuck mumbles, and Mark agrees, with all his heart.

In the morning, Donghyuck plays more music. Mark sings along and they eat a hot meal together. A truck passes, its honk a brief disturbance. There are birds outside, twittering on their roosts. Still, Mark doesn’t say a word. Later, perhaps.

Donghyuck plays a game on his phone, tongue out ever so slightly. Mark notices a smidgeon of soy sauce at the edge of his lips.

Mark takes a napkin and wipes it for him, slow. Donghyuck purses his lips and looks at Mark with brooding eyes. A small smile forms on his lips; a feeling he can’t describe simmers in Mark’s stomach.

All that he has to say, he can save for later. Right now, he can only think of the near future, the happiness Donghyuck can give him, and all the things Mark will offer in return.

* * *

**{part 2}**

Things only get better. On a Friday evening, Mark goes to Donghyuck’s and they kiss for a whole hour, first against Donghyuck’s kitchen counter, then under Donghyuck’s sheets. They’re a week into their relationship and finally, Donghyuck says he’s ready to have sex.

Mark gets hard to the sound of Donghyuck’s voice, telling Mark he’s thought about it a lot — how it would feel to have Mark inside him. He lowers himself, face inching close to Mark’s crotch while Mark lies on his back. He bites the garter to Mark’s underwear and sniffs over the garment, around the outline of Mark’s cock. Mark’s eyes stare intently, and he bites his lips, while Donghyuck slips off Mark’s briefs and lets out his dick.

“Mmm, fuck, you taste so good,” Donghyuck says, muffled as he swallows Mark whole. He gags some and Mark groans at the sensation.

They kiss and Donghyuck whispers in Mark’s ear: a play by play of what he wants Mark to do. Mark stares at him darkly, while Donghyuck licks his lip, “You’ll do it, yeah?”

Mark has Donghyuck on his stomach, ass up so Mark can spread him open. Donghyuck’s head falls onto his arms, folded in front of him. He moans while Mark focuses the tip of his tongue against Donghyuck’s hole, pushing in slightly. He offers a soft kiss, another lick, and begins to eat Donghyuck’s ass like he’s starving. The hairs on Donghyuck’s body stand in attention; Mark grabs his cock and gives it a press, then smooths the tip with a finger.

When Mark fucks him, Donghyuck is on his side, trembling while Mark kisses his ear from behind. Mark’s cock is slick from the lube, so it slips into Donghyuck easily. Tight muscles clamp on his shaft, and Mark swoons, feeling the rush of blood on his cock. His balls slap against Donghyuck’s thigh and the moment that happens, Donghyuck croaks a high-pitched moan.

“Should I go slow?” Mark whispers, hot and breathy.

“Yeah,” says Donghyuck, and breathes, “Slow first, and—put some more lube.”

Donghyuck hums in pleasure, his body becoming more compliant, more open. It takes all of Mark’s willpower not to piston his cock into Donghyuck’s hole and give him a pounding he’ll remember for the rest of his life.

Mark spills inside the condom and he later takes Donghyuck’s cum inside his mouth. The rest of the night, they kiss and Donghyuck tells him he wants to do it again, just maybe not right now. “I want it harder next time.”

It’s two days later when Mark takes him up on the offer. They have class; they go to work. Mark knocks on Donghyuck’s door, leans against the frame, and shoots him a look, dark and lustful.

He slips off Donghyuck’s cardigan as he pushes him against his sliding doors. Donghyuck works on the buttons of Mark’s shirt, unzips Mark’s fly, and lets a hand slither into Mark’s pants, grabbing the hardness of Mark’s cock.

Donghyuck’s ass spasms crazily when Mark fucks him from behind. He’s on all fours, and his skin is splotched red from Mark’s nails, digging into Donghyuck’s skin as he keeps the speedy rhythm. When he feels himself getting close, he slams into Donghyuck and lets his body fall against the dampness of Donghyuck’s back. Donghyuck pants and tells Mark that he feels like his heart is coming out of his throat, that he likes how strong Mark feels, that Mark’s about to break him, “You’re gonna make me cry, at this rate. Fuck—There it is, yeah. Mmm.”

Their screams bounce off the walls and the smell of their sweat envelopes the whole room. Donghyuck’s cries send Mark into a fit of shallow thrusts, and he cums hard while he holds Donghyuck’s face, both their mouths open. Mark rolls off of Donghyuck and slips off the condom, throwing it down and leaving a pool of his cum on the flooring. He pants and looks at Donghyuck, who nuzzles close and asks for a kiss. Mark cannot deny him; he decides he never will, no matter what he asks.

The room reeks when they wake in the morning. Donghyuck says his legs hurt, so Mark tries his best to be sweet and massages Donghyuck where he’s sore. Then he licks through Donghyuck’s mouth, and feels him up, finding him hard. The urge to suck him off overwhelms Mark, so he tells Donghyuck to sit back and let him do it. He swallows every drop of him and licks him clean when he’s done.

Mark tells Donghyuck that he’s fine, that Donghyuck doesn’t need to reciprocate, but Donghyuck frowns and says that he wants to. “And besides, your cock’s kinda tasty in the morning. Something about it.”

So Donghyuck takes Mark in his mouth for the umpteenth time. Donghyuck sticks out his tongue and allows Mark to spill, a cheeky grin on his face.

In the weeks that follow, this becomes a regular occurrence to which Mark grows accustomed. For the rest of his life, all he wants is to be naked with Donghyuck on his bed, or anywhere for that matter. His plans of grandeur can go straight to hell; this feels much too good to let go.

Donghyuck grows out his hair and changes it to a dark brown. This is how Mark can tell that time has passed, that autumn and winter have come and gone. They spend Christmas and New Year’s together, away from their families, just two of them on each day, Christmas dinner out on the balcony, New Year’s Eve in bed, mouths together as they hear the boom of the fireworks.

He meets Donghyuck’s brother once when he visits Donghyuck’s flat. He remembers Hyunseo from when they were kids, though he’s much taller and burlier than before. He’s stoic, bowing low when he greets Mark. He and Donghyuck talk about school, how it’s going, and how long he still needs to finish. They talk about a business they’re meant to start once Donghyuck gets his certificate — a baking goods shop that Donghyuck will manage. Once Hyunseo leaves, Donghyuck tells Mark that their plans have been in the works for a while. It’s one of the reasons he returned home from Daegu and started studying again. Mark tells Donghyuck he’s got his full support, hugging him tightly.

Mark has two terms left in his program, and Donghyuck has three. Mark’s project in the spring is to make a software that the school cafeteria can hypothetically use, and he labors through it night after night in Donghyuck’s apartment. In the background, Donghyuck works on his own projects: He writes on an accounts book, with figures Mark cannot decipher. He and Donghyuck have more or less shacked up, though they never talk about it nor make it official. Mark’s stuff, after all, is still in his childhood home, and Mark makes it a point not to leave too much with Donghyuck, knowing full well that there’s something he hasn’t confessed.

But he does begin to wonder if he’ll actually follow through with his plans to leave. After all, the town’s become much less suffocating with Donghyuck beside him.

Music even falls to the sideline for a time, but then his cousin Taeyong calls him at school, on a day he’s supposed to give a presentation. He says he needs some help writing another song for his mixtape, and Mark holds the phone close to his ear, silent as he wonders if he’s good enough to write anything at all.

His music skills have gone stagnant in the past few months, as he’s barely touched his notebook of songs or carried a guitar. Donghyuck knows that Mark likes to make music, even remembers how Mark took guitar lessons when they were nine. But he makes excuse after excuse when Donghyuck asks him to play in front of him. _I forgot my guitar, I’m not up for it today, maybe next time, I’ll play for you when I have something good_.

That evening, they’re both off from work so Mark chooses to stay at Donghyuck’s. He sits at Donghyuck’s table with a black pen and a pad of yellow paper, while Donghyuck sits across from him and tries to help Mark think.

“Have you ever composed before?” asks Donghyuck.

“Yeah, few times,” says Mark, as he taps the end of the pen on the paper. “Taeyong’s more adept at it though.”

“He does music full time?”

“No—he like, works at a jeweler’s part-time.”

“Is that what you wanna do?”

“Work at a jeweler?”

“Mark, c’mon.”

Mark shrugs. “I dunno. I don’t think I’d be very good.I barely play anymore.”

Donghyuck huffs. “I keep telling you to bring your guitar over. Then I can watch you practice!”

“Yeah—” Mark regards him and feels as though he’s looking at an angel. An angel with brown hair and freckled cheeks. “I know that. I should. Bring my guitar, that is.”

“How about start with a theme?”

“Sorry?”

“For the song.” Donghyuck rests his chin on his hand, elbow propped on the table. He shakes his head ever so slightly, trying to shuck off the hair on his face. “Start with a theme. Like—sun and moon.”

“Okay...” Mark writes that down and draws matching symbols to go with it. “Okay...A theme...I got a theme. Now what?”

“Beats me. I’m no writer.”

“This is hopeless.”

Donghyuck arches a brow. “You’ve been sitting here for what, 20 minutes? And you’re already giving up? Mark, that is not very metal of you.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Donghyuck squints. “Hm.”

“I’m waiting.”

“How about no sex till you write two verses.”

“What?” Mark frowns and protests, “That’s crazy. Donghyuck, no.”

“Alright, it’s settled then. I’m gonna go to a classmate’s for—four hours and you’re gonna stay here and write some music. If I come back and you still haven’t got anything, then we won’t be having sex. Ever again.”

“Ever again?”

“Yes. That’s how serious I am. No music means blue balls for all eternity.”

“I can always jack off.”

“Oh, yes, you can. But is that what you really want?”

No, it isn’t. Donghyuck knows this and Mark knows this. Mark laughs, though the joy disappears when he averts his gaze toward the paper, a blank and overbearing menace. Donghyuck prepares to go and hugs Mark’s from behind before he leaves, arms hanging below Mark’s shoulders. “I believe in you,” he says, as a whisper.

Donghyuck must think the motivation to write will suddenly arrive in his absence, but as with a lot of things, Mark finds that he’s about to disappoint. He sits at the table and puts down a single string of words — _Close your eyes and listen carefully_. Immediately, this feels trite and he groans behind his hands.

There isn’t a single drink in Donghyuck’s fridge and he needs one badly. If he walks for a bit, he’s bound to find a mini-mart or bottle shop where he can snag a drink or two. Mark puts on his coat and proceeds to wander through the streets. After five minutes, he finds a place called JR’s Bottle Shop, where he enters to find rows and rows of liquor. He goes for the cheaper kind — a pack of Hites beer cans, which he decides to drink immediately.

Faintly lit by a streetlight, a wooden bench stands a few meters away from the shop. Mark takes a seat and chugs down his first can. The chill of the winter still lingers and Mark has to tug on his coat to keep warm. The beer helps, as it enters his stomach.

He looks forward and sees the front of the stairs leading up to a karaoke bar. People come and go, often shooting concerned looks in Mark’s direction. At some point, a man and woman come out fighting, the woman slapping the man’s shoulder for some unknown reason. Later, a guy comes to sit beside him and asks if he has a lighter. Mark doesn’t, and the man complains about the weather—Is it really supposed to be this cold?

Mark is on his third beer. He stands and finds a corner for him to pee. Another couple passes by, this time sounding incredibly lovey-dovey, possibly about to bone once they reach whoever’s home is available. He walks the street, trying to remember what exactly he’s doing here in the first place. Straight, then left, straight again, left, back to the bottle shop, still open, still selling—Why hasn’t he gone to this place before?

“Funny.” Mark chuckles, then ends up lying back on the same wooden bench where he chugged down his first two beers.

“Mark? Mark Lee?”

Mark’s vision is blurry but he can recognize the voice. He lifts another beer to his mouth and it almost spills when he hears the shout.

“Mark!” The second voice is familiar as well. He rotates his head, squints, and tries to focus.

“Mark? Hey, you okay dude?” It’s Nakamoto Yuta from high school, someone he hasn’t seen in years.

“He’s drunk. Damn.” It’s Dong Sicheng — again, someone with whom Mark is estranged.

“Yuta! Sicheng!” Mark opens his arms and grins. The can of beer leaps out of his hands, thrown to the ground, its contents spilling. His eyesight grows clearer and he sees Yuta and his long hair, Sicheng and his buzz cut. They’re leaning down, looking concerned by Mark’s state.

“You’re looking—um.” Yuta stalls and glances at Sicheng.

“I think ‘awful’ is the word you’re looking for,” says Sicheng.

Mark shakes his head. “Nope. Not awful. Completely trashed and useless is more I like it.”

“Do you want us to call someone? Fuck, Mark. Do you even have your phone on you?” Yuta tries to search the pockets of his coat, but Mark tells him it won’t be there; he left it at Donghyuck’s.

“Donghyuck—You mean Lee Donghyuck? From high school?” Sicheng sounds doubtful. “I didn’t know you were friends again.”

“We’re not friends,” Mark says, then feels himself slipping away. “Boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend. I love him. But he won’t have sex with me anymore.”

Sicheng and Yuta murmur. Mark hears them say Donghyuck’s name and something about Sicheng being friends with him on Facebook. Shortly after, Mark blacks out and he doesn’t know what happens after that. They must have carried him to Donghyuck’s, or Donghyuck must have run over to claim Mark’s sorry ass. In the morning, he’s in Donghyuck’s apartment, with Donghyuck beside him, sleeping.

For Mark, blacking out drunk is certainly not a new experience. This was a habit of his when he was nineteen, in the months before his enlistment day. At the time, he was still close with Yuta and Sicheng. They often hung out at Sicheng’s house and while Mark would scour Sicheng’s fridge for any sort of liquor he could find, he would pretend that he didn’t hear Yuta smother Sicheng with kisses. The two are still together, evidently.

His head is groggy and the events of last night send a pang of embarrassment to his stomach. He’s sure Donghyuck will be angry and he doesn’t how he’s supposed to face his wrath. So despite the throbbing in Mark’s temples, he grabs his phone from the table and quietly slips out the door. The sunlight is strong and it hurts his eyes. He’s in no state to ride his motorcycle, but he does so anyway.

As soon as he arrives at his parents’ home, he goes straight to his bedroom and lies prone on the bed, face flat on the sheets. His body is weary and he has to sleep again. There’s a text on his phone — another, and then another. He ignores it all so he can rest.

In a bitter twist of irony, he wakes and finds that a verse has come to him. He takes a banana from the dining table, his parents nowhere to be seen, and then sits by his desk, writes line after line. All the while, his phone remains under the sheets.

Mark folds the paper as he finishes the words. He slips it into his pocket and runs to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He wears a knit hat to hide the mess of his hair and fumbles around as he puts on his uniform. It’s two in the afternoon and he’s got an evening shift at work.

On the way, he keeps his phone in his pocket, still unable to look. Once there, he takes a quick peek and sees the notifications — ten missed calls, eleven text messages. Most of them are from Donghyuck; one message is from an unknown number.

He sneaks a read of the newest text while he works the register. ‘ _Donghyuck gave me your number so I just wanted to say it was nice seeing you again. Despite, you know. Let’s catch up soon. Sicheng wants to see you too. [Yuta.]’_

Mark scrolls to the top of Donghyuck’s texts, one from last night, nine from this morning.

‘ _Where are you?’_

_‘Mark what the fuck?’_

_‘Mark you’re making me worried.’_

_‘Why aren’t you answering my calls?’_

_‘You know what: fuck you.’_

_‘Fuck. You.’_

_‘Go fuck yourself with a brick.’_

_‘Please reply.’_

_‘I’m going to work now, let me know once you see this.’_

_‘You’re doing it again.’_

Mark doesn’t know what the last one means. He spends some time in the back alley of the store and his eyes water as he bites into a slice of carrot bread. Back inside, Seulgi looks at him funny and asks if he’s okay. Mark fakes a smile, offers a thumbs-up, and tells her he’s peachy.

He looks at the messages one more time, his fingers shaking as he thumbs through the letters. He manages a quick reply, an apology, ‘ _I’m sorry for being like this. I hope you can give me a chance to explain.’_

To Mark’s surprise, Donghyuck’s reply is quick and long. ‘ _Of course I’ll let you explain. Fuck you for thinking otherwise. I was thinking about you all day losing my mind with worry. Don’t ever do this to me again. If you’re going through something, I’ll be there for you. I can’t believe I even have to say that. It should be a given.’_

Mark wants to cry but knows he’ll scare the customers away if he does. He collects the payment for a bottle of soda, and then he quickly types on his phone — _‘I love you.’_

‘ _You’re saying this now? Through text?’_ comes Donghyuck’s reply, but then he says, ‘ _I love you too.’_

He doesn’t get off his shift until 1 in the morning, so he keeps himself awake with a cup of coffee that he pays for himself. Once he’s allowed, he says bye to Seulgi and rides away into the night.

The fluorescent bulb outside Donghyuck’s apartment is lit, and a moth lands on Mark’s hand as he readies his knuckle against the door. He grunts, unable to muster the strength, then he falls to the ground, frustrated. “Fucking piece of useless shit,” he says, then takes off his knit cap and proceeds to pull on his hair.

The door opens and Mark falls on his back. His head lands on Donghyuck’s feet, which must be fitting, considering the circumstances. He stares up, wide-eyed, and sees Donghyuck looking down on him, face tight.

“Get the fuck up and come inside.”

Mark obeys. He gets on his feet and slips off his shoes, carefully placing them beside Donghyuck’s sandals. He presses his hat against his chest and pads across Donghyuck’s space. The floor and ceiling feel unfamiliar, even though he was just here in the morning.

Donghyuck sits on the futon and crosses his arms. Mark assumes he’s meant to sit beside him.

“I know I told you to go fuck yourself, but I’m not actually mad at you.”

Mark drops his hands to his lap. “You should be.”

“I know. But I’m not.” Donghyuck takes one of Mark’s hands and holds him tight.

Mark stares at their hands. It's a wonder how a single touch can make him feel so warm. “I meant what I said in the text.”

Donghyuck moves a finger, tickling Mark's palm. “That you love me?”

Mark nods.

“Well, I meant what I said too." The light weight of Donghyuck’s head falls on Mark’s shoulder. His expression softens, face partially covered by strands of brown hair falling against his eyes.

“Music is a touchy subject for me,” says Mark. “I’ve wanted to do it for the longest time, but I’ve never felt good enough. My cousin—Taeyong, he’s encouraged me all my life. And as soon as I became a teenager, we sort of agreed that I’d come live him in the city once I was ready. And we’d make music together. Perform. But, like, I dunno. It all feels like a pipe dream now.”

“I see,” says Donghyuck. “Are you still planning to go? To the city?”

Mark thinks, then nods. “I only started studying again so I could get a decent day job when I leave for Seoul. I could’ve gone much earlier, maybe studied there instead, but—yeah, I still feel like I’m not ready. So my original plan was to go once I finished.”

“Original plan? Has anything changed?”

“Yeah. You came along. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to go now.”

Donghyuck looks at him, confused. “On account of me?”

Mark swallows. “On account of me loving you so much. I’d rather die than leave you behind.”

“Right. Well.” Donghyuck sighs. “I don’t think you should give up on something like that. It’s your dream, Mark. If you made me give up on _my_ dreams, I’d hate you for it. Or maybe not hate you. But I’d resent you. And that’s not something I want you to feel, towards me.”

“You’re right.” Of course he is. Mark’s head tilts backward. He thinks about Donghyuck’s dreams and realizes he’s not sure what exactly they are. “Your dreams—” he begins. “Could you tell me about them? I feel like—after all this time, we’re still strangers.”

“My dreams?” Donghyuck puts a finger on his chin, taps it slowly. “Well, it changes from time to time. It’s never been as solid as yours, I guess. I mean once, I thought I wanted to be an engineer—I even went to school for it. Daegu Uni School of Engineering, what a fucking joke. Though that’s beside the point. What I want—what I _really_ want, is to _make_ something, you know? Something people will care about. I dunno if a baking goods store with Hyungseo hyung will do the trick, but—it might be a start, so I’m doing it. And it’ll be great.”

“Mine aren’t solid. At all. At least you have some kind of direction.”

“Direction’s overrated if you ask me. Going with the flow—now that’s a concept I’m on board with, know what I mean?”

The words intend to make Mark feel better, though he might need some time to collect himself and reflect on what he wants. He doesn’t know if Donghyuck realizes the implications of Mark’s plans, and he doesn’t want to bring it up just yet. What he does bring up are the words he’s been able to write, in that rush of inspiration that came to him as he left his drunken stupor.

“What’s this?” Donghyuck holds the paper in his hands, and mouths the words as he reads, “ _The blackest of hearts, you’ve helped it grow, shined a light on the shadow._ ”

Donghyuck smiles and reads on. “Clever,” he says, simply.

“You think so?”

“Send this to Taeyong. Immediately. He’ll like it. I don’t know him, but I can tell he’ll like it.”

“In the morning maybe, it’s probably too late.”

“No. Now, Mark.”

Mark is about to protest but Donghyuck puts a hand over his mouth. They share a look and Donghyuck raises a brow. It’s enough to convince Mark to follow and bring out his phone so he can send Taeyong a picture of his writing. They wait together on the off chance that he’ll reply, though they resign to the fact that Taeyong won’t.

They don’t kiss that night, which makes Mark worry that kissing isn’t something Donghyuck will be willing to do anymore. But in the morning, Mark is smothered with kisses, as Donghyuck wakes him by pressing his weight onto Mark’s and planting his lips all over Mark’s cheeks. Mark groans, pretending not to like it, and then he moans, as he finds Donghyuck’s lips and his tongue.

Taeyong sends a message later that morning and asks Mark if he’s thought of a melody for his lyrics. Mark says he hasn’t but he’ll work on it soon. Donghyuck watches him as he texts, making sure Mark doesn’t say anything self-deprecating.

“There you go. Nice and easy, yes?”

“Are you gonna watch me every time I have to do this?”

“Dude, no thanks. Today is an exception.”

Donghyuck rises and ambles towards the kitchen so he can bring out the ingredients for their meal: rice, mushrooms, beef, and an assortment of vegetables and sauces. It takes him nearly two hours to get everything together, and Mark watches fondly as the steam flits out of the rice cooker and as Donghyuck fashions his own chili pepper paste. He helps with the last steps when they have to put everything together for the bibimbap. Donghyuck groans and palms his face because Mark knows very little about how to present food acceptably.

He heads home later, just to claim his guitar. The road back is a slow struggle as he snaps his guitar to his bike. When he returns, Donghyuck is asleep, so Mark decides he’ll play on the balcony. He sits on the ledge, his pen and paper stationed on a nearby stool.

Mark adjusts the words so it fits with the music in his head. The process is long; one verse takes him hours to perfect. More lyrics come to him as he goes, and he writes them down when they feel more or less right.

Late in the afternoon, his bones fail him and he falls asleep beside Donghyuck. He wakes for a moment and sees Donghyuck pulling his work uniform onto his body. They’ve updated the ensemble with a sailor hat, which fits perfectly on the roundness of Donghyuck’s head. Donghyuck mumbles about the busy dinner shift, and he kisses Mark goodbye before he has to go. Then Mark falls asleep again, forgetting to eat. Today is one of few days when he doesn’t have to work, and the shapelessness of such days leads to forgetting basic things.

When he wakes, the clock strikes ten. There’s a grumble in his stomach that he ignores in favor of checking the news on his phone, its light illuminating his face. In Seoul, the rains are strong and Mark wonders if these will pass their region.

As he fixes himself a sandwich, he scrolls through his phone and clicks on Yuta’s text from a while ago. He takes a bite of his ham and cheese and composes a reply, _‘Yeah, we should catch up. When are you free?’_

 _‘Mark!’_ The response is instant. ‘ _As soon as possible. Just not tomorrow. Tuesday maybe?? Dinner??’_

Mark smiles. ‘ _Yeah for sure.’_

_‘How have you been dude???’_

He’s been asked that question one too many times since he’s come back from the military. The answer isn’t always clear cut. Mark goes for a simple _fine,_ and then he asks, ‘ _You and Sicheng still together?’_

 _‘You know it,’_ Yuta says. _‘Love of my damn life.’_

Mark remembers Yuta back in high school when he still had short hair and barely any muscle on his body. He used to shower Sicheng with praise whenever he found the opportunity, and he would always turn to Mark to see if he agreed. Sicheng had always been the smart one in the group, which didn’t say much, considering they were all the bane of their teachers’ lives.

‘ _How’d you make it work this long?’_ Mark asks.

‘ _What a question,’_ says Yuta. ‘ _I’ll ask him, wait.’_

Mark chomps his sandwich in half before Yuta returns with a reply.

‘ _He says he doesn’t know either,’_ Yuta says. ‘ _Though he also says it must be the sex.’_

An honest laugh comes out of Mark. ‘ _Then I guess I’m all set_.’

‘ _WOW.’_ Yuta sends him a few emojis, eggplants and hearts. ‘ _But seriously, it’s different for each couple. I’m guessing. For us it’s the sex. And I guess the trust. But don’t take my word for it.’_

Yuta texts with barely a lull, as he sends a series of messages he might as well compile as an advice column. Give them the right amount of space; make sure you communicate; always know when to compromise. And use a lot of lube when you have sex. ‘ _Non-negotiable stuff. Unless some of these aren’t your thing. Like, do you do it dry? That’s painful, man. But more power either way!’_

 _‘What do you do for a living?’_ Mark has to ask.

‘ _Daycare assistant!’_ Yuta says, and Mark squints in disbelief. In a way, it does explain the perk in Yuta’s speech.

Mark is about to send his last text when Donghyuck comes home. His hair is damp and he tells Mark it’s been drizzling. His eyes are half-lidded, but he smiles once he’s able to pull Mark to the floor cushions, sit on Mark’s lap, and curl himself against Mark’s body. 

“Spoil me,” Donghyuck says, perpetually needy.

Mark turns him around and massages his shoulders. Donghyuck melts in his arms, and Mark lets him lean back so they can kiss. Their movements are chaste, at least for the moment, as their mouths find a gentle rhythm.

Donghyuck rides him that night and falls onto Mark’s cock with very little heed for method. Sometimes, Mark wants to offer himself to Donghyuck, and let Donghyuck push inside him for once. They’ve done it that way a couple times, but Donghyuck says there’s something about taking Mark inside him that drives him nuts. And Mark can’t complain, as the tightness between Donghyuck’s legs is heaven on earth. After all the times they’ve done it, Donghyuck is still able to make him cum in copious spurts.

“I’m gonna cum,” Donghyuck whines, his eyes shut and his mouth trembling. “Mark, fuck, _please_.”

Mark flips them around and fucks Donghyuck with his legs hanging in the air. Their bodies gyrate together and Mark growls against Donghyuck’s neck as he feels the tremors of his orgasm. When he cums, he slumps down onto Donghyuck, whimpering, “Oh god, oh god.”

“Are you—”

“No, fuck, it’s nothing. Fuck.”

His eyes bug out, and he finds that the tears won’t let up. Donghyuck matches him, eyes agape as the droplets fall onto Donghyuck’s face.

Donghyuck lifts his hands to the nape of Mark's neck and pulls him down, hugs him tight, frantic. “Mark it’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a mess in Mark’s head: He doesn’t know if he’s crying out of happiness, exhaustion, or real sadness. All he knows is that Donghyuck’s touch is making him feel so much better.

Mark sobs and Donghyuck cradles him. “Oh, Mark,” he says, the name so tender when it leaves Donghyuck’s mouth. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Just hold me,” is Mark’s reply, and Donghyuck wastes no time to hug Mark close.

There’s a sense of relief Mark takes from all this. A nameless weight leaves his body. As their world turns pitch black, this becomes all the more clear: He looks to the ceiling and finds he has the strength the breathe deep.

The rain begins to pelt. His guitar is still outside, so he rises and runs to get it. He sets it down behind Donghyuck’s dresser, and then he falls right back beside Donghyuck, who groans and nuzzles against his arm. The rain grows louder, but Mark is able to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**{part 3}**

They’re twisted in the sheets one Friday afternoon when Donghyuck tells him a story.

“I think we were twelve when you first said you were running away.”

Mark doesn’t know what he’s talking about, though this could easily be true, what with all the bullshit he used to spout in his younger years. When used to be rougher, when every week he’d have bandages on his knuckles, from boxing on trees or getting in fights with one kid or another.

“If I remember right, we were at the park and you were lying on the grass. I was sitting beside you doing my homework, which we had to do together for some reason. Must have been for science class. Ms. Hak used to have us do pair work for all our projects, do you remember that?”

“She was the one with the pink hair, wasn’t she?”

“Pretty awesome lady. Anyway. You said your dad got a new job at an accounting firm and he was harping on you about doing the same when you got older. But like, you said you got scolded ‘cause you told him to fuck off.”

“Ah. I think it’s ringing a bell.”

“Basically—you said you wanted to run away and leave them behind. Go to the city and stay with your aunt and uncle.”

“And Taeyong.”

“You didn’t mention him, but I guess so. I thought you were crazy back then. And I didn’t want to say anything, but your dad was kind of right to scold you.”

“Well he hates me now. Barely even talks to me.”

Donghyuck huffs and turns toward the ceiling.

“That time—what I remember is telling you that you shouldn’t do it. And you were like, _I hate my life, I hate being here._ And then you told me to mind my own business.”

“You shouldn’t take me too seriously. I was an asshole back then.”

“I know! The biggest. You’re much nicer now. But I still loved you, even when you were horrible.”

“Did you really?”

Donghyuck nods. “Like crazy. And when you stopped looking at me—when you went off with Sicheng and Yuta. I was so hurt. But I never told anyone.”

“Donghyuck, fuck.”

“How about you? How did you feel about me, back then?” When Donghyuck looks at Mark, his eyes are anxious and Mark is unsure about what to answer. When Mark hesitates, Donghyuck becomes downcast.

“I don’t think I loved you back then. I thought you were cute and hot—I remember that, at least.”

“Ah. Sure.” Donghyuck’s eyes avoid Mark’s. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“The past doesn’t matter.” Mark makes Donghyuck look at him, taking his face with his hands. “I love you now, you hear me?”

Mark presses Donghyuck’s cheeks and makes his lips pucker.

“I hear you,” says Donghyuck. “But why aren’t you kissing me yet? I need comforting.”

“Are you being serious?”

“Yes. My boyfriend didn’t love me when we were twelve. I’m devastated.”

“You’re impossible,” says Mark, before he finally kisses him. Donghyuck hooks a leg around Mark’s hip, moans into his lips, and says he wants more. So Mark tries for a deeper kiss, and Donghyuck’s teeth gnash against his.

It’s the summer, late July. The sun keeps them sweating for most of their days, and Donghyuck makes a habit out of wearing tank tops and boxer shorts when he’s inside the apartment. Mark rivals him by going shirtless over his track pants. Though it really doesn’t make a difference, as the few clothes they have end up scattered around the room.

Mark will celebrate his birthday in a week and as an early present, Taeyong sends him a recording of the song Mark wrote for him. ‘ _A Shining Heart’_ is the final title, and it’s an acoustic track that matches well with Taeyong’s soft vocals. When Mark hears it, he feels unbelievably happy. Taeyong takes some liberties, straying from some of the melodies Mark included in the demo, but the sense of achievement is still tenfold once he finally has the mp3 of an actual, decent song that he made himself.

Donghyuck forces Mark to play it on his bluetooth speakers and Mark hesitates at first. He crisscrosses around the room, pacing as the song plays, and Donghyuck drinks a cup of coffee. He’s shaking once it’s done. If he’s being honest, everything he wrote—It was about Donghyuck, for Donghyuck, dedicated to him and everything he’s given Mark these past months.

“Well that was a pile of shit.”

“I knew it. I should tell Taeyong to delete the file. I should stop writing forever. Fuck.”

Mark lets his forehead fall against the wall, and he’s about to give himself a good bump and beating. But then Donghyuck hugs him from behind, stopping him.

“That was a bad joke. I’m sorry.”

His embrace tells Mark everything he has to know. The words are all for him and Mark is certain Donghyuck understands. Mark’s never truly loved anyone else, so who would he have written about?

Their summer feels much too short. The autumn term, his last, begins with a festival that Donghyuck and Mark attend. The indoor event happens on a starry evening; the hallways teem with food stalls and trinketers. In one of the classrooms, the organizers put up a makeshift platform to serve as a stage, where people come and go to do spoken word, duet performances to old ballads.

Before that evening, Donghyuck enlisted Mark to perform, a fact that brought a bout of terror to Mark’s stomach. “If you can’t perform for a dumb school festival, what more in the streets of Hongdae? This should be a piece of cake for you.”

Mark grips the strap of his guitar as it hangs from his body. He dresses well for tonight — his shirt a buttoned white, jeans black, hair slicked back. Eager to take a video, Donghyuck brings out his phone. He looks at Mark with hearty expectation as he sits on one of the desks, second row from the stage. When Donghyuck gives him a thumbs-up, Mark finds the will to laugh.

“Next up—” the announcer says, squinting at a piece of paper. “Lee Mark on the guitar!”

Mark sits on the stool, gulps as he adjusts the microphone. There’s some high-pitched feedback, which makes him wince. In front of him is a sea of people he doesn’t know, with the exception of Donghyuck and a girl he might recognize from class.

For today, he practiced something more spirited than what he’s used to. His fingers move against the strings and he breathes onto the microphone. The crowd dissolves as he closes his eyes and centers on the music. There’s a quirk in his lips as he starts to hum the melody. He opens his eyes once the words come out and still, the crowd isn’t there, at least not to him. But of course, Donghyuck is. Of course he’s there.

After Mark performs, he and Donghyuck head home and they kiss under a flickering light. The lightbulbs are close to dying and Donghyuck forgot to buy new ones. In the corner of the room is a suitcase of Mark’s clothes, most of his garments from home. He packs and unpacks now and then; he doesn’t use Donghyuck’s dresser drawers even when an empty one is offered.

Taeyong’s on the phone with Mark regularly, and one day, he talks to Mark about his housemate. “He's moving out soon. And I don’t plan on looking for a new one.”

“Why not?” asks Mark.

“What do you think? You’re getting your certificate in two months, right?”

Two months — by the 15th of December, to be exact. “That’s right,” says Mark. Donghyuck’s in the bathroom, and Mark stands outside the laundry deck, leaning out against the railing.

“You’re finally getting away from them,” says Taeyong, and Mark knows he means Mark’s mom and dad. “And we’re gonna have the time of our lives here, believe me. I think we could really start that band. I’ve got two friends willing to join us. You’re still good with an electric guitar, yeah?”

Mark assures Taeyong that he is, not wanting to disappoint. Taeyong’s always taken care of him, even from afar. When he was younger and Taeyong was in high school, Mark would often visit his aunt and uncle during the summer, and Taeyong would babysit him for long stretches throughout the week. Taeyong let him listen to songs on his ipod and play with his instruments: acoustic guitar, electric guitar, percussions. They continued to be close when Mark was in high school himself. Taeyong would send him money whenever Mark said he was short, and Mark would take advantage, using Taeyong’s earnings on cigarettes sold by high school seniors who wanted to make a buck. Looking back, Mark can only feel shame.

For dinner, Mark and Donghyuck go to an outdoor restaurant near the apartment. During their walk, Mark is listless; his vision blurs and he almost hits a streetlight. Donghyuck grabs him and asks if he’s okay, and Mark lies.

At the restaurant, they sit across from each other on a pair of red chairs, a faint acoustic tune playing on the radio. The smell of the beef radish soup is strong; they drink hot tea to calm their nerves.

“I think Hyunseo might want to open the business early,” says Donghyuck, before he slurps some of the soup, straight from the plastic bowl.

“And you don’t think that’s good?” Mark leans forward, arms folded on the table. His tea’s consumed, the rest of the food untouched.

Donghyuck scratches his chin. “Dunno. I don’t think I have an opinion. It just doesn’t feel right.”

Mark knows Donghyuck will succeed, no matter what he does. Mark, on the other hand — his success is still up in the air.

“So Taeyong called a while ago, didn’t he? I heard you talking on the phone.”

The question sends a churn to Mark’s stomach. He feels his toes curl in his shoes.

“Was it about—you know.”

“I dunno, Donghyuck.” Mark leans back, hands in his hair. “He told me he saved a room, just for me. And that we’re gonna start a band. But I dunno, I don’t think I wanna go anymore.”

“You’re being idiotic.” Donghyuck knits his brows, then he shakes his head and forks up a piece of beef. “You’re going. This is your dream we’re talking about.”

“I don’t know if this is still it. This—fucking dream. I put it off for so long, even went to school just so I had an excuse not to do it.”

“Then enough excuses!” Donghyuck says this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and says it without a single ounce of hurt.

“The way you talk about this—it’s like you don’t even care.”

“Because I don’t.”

“You don’t? You don’t care that—” Mark catches himself and clenches his fist, as he finds that he’s about to scream. He lowers his head and mumbles the rest of the sentence. “You don’t care that we’ll end up breaking up?”

“You’re twisting my words.”

“I’m just going off of what you just said.”

“Your music. It means a lot to you. You can’t give that up.”

“Fuck that.” His voice is stifled, as he tries his best not to raise his tone. “I’ll just do it here—at some bar or whatever, won’t be any different from busking in the fucking streets.”

“You know that’s not true. You’d have so many more opportunities if you move away. You could play at music clubs, doesn’t Taeyong do that too? And this town—it’ll suck all the creativity out of you.”

Mark drags his feet backward and crosses his arms. “You’re being serious. I can’t believe it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

“You and me—what about us?” Mark looks at him straight, and this seems to take Donghyuck by surprise, as he slack jaws before frowning and looking away.

“That’s not something you should think about,” says Donghyuck. “You and I will be okay, eventually.”

“So let me get this straight. You’re telling me—I shouldn’t think about the only relationship that’s ever mattered to me? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Your relationship with Taeyong matters just as much as ours. And you should branch out, meet new people.”

“Branch out? Are you listening to yourself?”

Donghyuck closes his eyes, his lips curling. “Yes, I know exactly what I’m saying. Stop being ridiculous.”

“I’m not the one being ridiculous.” Mark is shaking his head, and he fumbles around his pocket for his wallet. He slams a bill on the table and tells Donghyuck he’s not hungry anymore. “I’m not taking another minute of this.”

The chair swerves around when Mark leaves and he doesn’t bother fixing it. He walks away and finds a store nearby, where he buys a pack of cigarettes, the first he’s bought in a while.He wanders back to the apartment building and for a moment, thinks about going inside. Instead, he puts on his helmet and drives away on his scooter.

His dad is home when he arrives, sitting on their porch, smoking a cigarette of his own. He’s quiet when Mark pulls into their driveway. He nods at Mark when he approaches the door, and Mark bows in his direction. “Good evening,” he goes, then walks inside.

His mother is in the living room, asleep in front of their television, her hair a mess of curls against her face. He tries to wake her, just to let her know that he’s back.

“Mom—I’m here. Get up.” He arches down and shakes her arm.

His mother groans then swats him away. “Don’t bother me, boy.”

In the past, Mark would curse away and bang his door closed, and they would easily take notice. Mark’s father would clench his fist and Mark’s mom would argue with him from behind the walls. Mark’s instincts tell him to do it all again, just to show them how spiteful he is for all the years of neglect. But his body tells him no: He grows much too tired to even speak.

Most of his clothes are at Donghyuck’s, so for the next few days, Mark has to make do with what he has in his closet. He goes to school wearing old shirts and he borrows an extra uniform at work. His phone is virtually silent for a week and a half, with not a single text or call from Donghyuck.

He gets a single call as he eats his lunch alone by one of many plastic tables at their school cafeteria. It’s Yuta, who invites Mark to a night of karaoke. “You should bring Donghyuck,” he says, and this makes Mark wince.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” asks Yuta.

“I think we’re broken up.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “Then we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Mark agrees to go, to that same karaoke bar from that night he got drunk out of his ass. Yuta reminds him of this, telling Mark it baffles him how much of a lightweight he’s become. Sicheng is out to order them food, while Yuta works the lights in their private room, setting it to a dim purple.

“Just like old times.” Yuta plops onto the sofa, right beside Mark, and he hooks an arm around him. Mark feels lifeless and unable to respond to Yuta’s musings.

He tries to laugh along, watching and chuckling when Yuta and Sicheng do a duet to a Boa song. He tries one out and sings out of tune on purpose. If Donghyuck were here, they’d sing perfectly together. He remembers all the times he and Mark would play music loud for enough for the neighbors to hear, how they’d pretend to perform in front of the audience. They’d match the volume of the music with their voices. Other times, Mark would play his guitar and Donghyuck would sit on the floor while watching him like a child. He would try to sing, but Mark’s soft acoustics often sent him to sleep, his head against Mark’s leg.

Mark is groggy the next day, as Yuta and Sicheng indulge Mark in some cold beer in tall pints. It’s a Saturday, which means work late in the afternoon. He looks at his phone as he lies in bed until 10 AM. He badly wants to open the message app and text Donghyuck, just to see how he is.

He’ll need to come over eventually to claim all his things, but he mulls over whether he should tell Donghyuck in advance or just show up one day, unannounced. He’s put this off for two weeks, so all his feelings have been left to fester.

Cowardice wins, so he comes to Donghyuck’s without warning. He takes a local bus at 11 AM, knowing he has fuckload of things to lug around, things he can’t strap to his scooter. Once he arrives, he knocks on Donghyuck’s door in the hopes that he’s there. He knocks once, no answer. He knocks twice and then hears a scuffle from the other side.

Donghyuck opens the door, quick, and he’s wide-eyed the moment he sees Mark.

They gape at each other until Mark says, “I’m here to get my things.”

“Oh—I see.” The staring game lasts a few more seconds before Donghyuck gets out of his way, moving sideways against the doorframe. Mark steps inside and finds his stuff where he left them: the guitar case behind Donghyuck’s dresser, his suitcase at the far right corner by the hamper.

Mark avoids Donghyuck’s eyes, while he pushes down his suitcase, forcing everything to fit before zipping it up. The way he checks for his clothes is quick, so he’s not certain if all are actually behind the zipper.

He’s about to leave when he hears Donghyuck call for him.

“Mark, um...”

Donghyuck is right behind him, his hands outstretched with a black shirt in hand. Their eyes meet this time: Donghyuck’s expression is blank and his hair is a mess of loose strands.

“This is yours,” he says. “I just—washed it yesterday. I used it to, um. Yeah, never mind. Here.”

“Thanks,” says Mark, then nods. He takes the shirt and unzips the top of his luggage to slip it inside.

Donghyuck scratches the back of his neck and looks at Mark once, with a small smile. The look sends heat to Mark’s neck, a redness that he tries to hide before he leaves.

Mark pulls his suitcase toward the sidewalk and takes one more glance at what he’s leaving behind. He doesn’t expect for Donghyuck to be there, standing against the railing. Mark takes him in and does a wave.

Donghyuck dips his head, then turns around. Mark does the same.

Work is a chore, as it always is. Mark rests his chin on his hand and waits for customers to come.

The quiet is unbearable, and yet he still tells Seulgi he can take a shift on Sunday. “I don’t have any plans anyway.”

On Monday, he has school, and he sits by a computer, staring at a line of code while the teacher rambles, her voice becoming a monotone.

The next day, there’s a missed call from Yuta. He doesn’t answer and lets it ring a second time.

The day after, he passes Donghyuck’s apartment building and stands outside, staring. He leans back against his scooter and wonders what in the hell he expects to happen by coming here.

On Thursday evening, he works out in his bedroom, doing pushups on a mat. Sweat trickles down his body and some needed serotonin runs through his brain.

Later that night, he calls Donghyuck on the phone.

“Mark, hey.” He answers merely seconds after the ring.

Mark says, _hi,_ then, _how are you,_ then, _I’ve been meaning to call._ Meaningless things. Ways to delay what he wants to say.

“We sort of left things hanging,” says Mark.

Donghyuck’s voice is soft. “I know.”

“School’s a drag. As always. Same for you?”

“Not really, I quite enjoy what I study.”

Mark falls onto the bed and lets out a deep sigh.

“Are we broken up?”

“I dunno, Mark. Are we? You’re the one who left.”

“I only left because you were being insensitive.”

“Seriously? I was only looking out for you.”

“Looking out—? It was like you were _trying_ to hurt my feelings on purpose.”

“What? That’s absurd.”’’

“Absurd my ass.”

“Great comeback Mark, just great. You have such a way with words.”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about.”

Donghyuck grows quiet. Mark starts hearing the rumble from the television outside, his parents watching a crime drama on TV.

“I hate this. I don’t want us to fight. It’s making my heart hurt.”

“I feel the same.”

“Plus I miss you. Way too much.”

“I probably miss you more,” says Donghyuck. “My bed feels empty without you.”

They let the admission sit. Mark listens to Donghyuck’s breath.

“You wanna go on video?” says Donghyuck. “I wanna show you something.”

“Oh, um. Yeah, I’ll just—There, I pressed it.”

Donghyuck’s hair is jet black and he’s cut it shorter at the sides. Mark furrows his brows, not sure if he likes it.

“When did you do this?” Mark raises his phone so Donghyuck can see his full face.

“Just a couple days ago. Right after you left with your stuff.” Donghyuck blinks, and he ruffles his hair with a hand. “Do you not like it?”

“I’m still deciding.”

“You don’t have to like it. I didn’t do it on your account.”

“Of course you didn’t. It’s just—You’re a different person.”

“Am I really? That’s good then. Change is good.”

“Not all change.”

“Most of it is, though you have to look close sometimes to know which stuff are blessings in disguise.”

Mark stares at Donghyuck, whose head is now sideways, resting on a pillow. He wonders what Donghyuck’s hair would feel like in his hands. It should still be soft, but the sides of his hair must be prickly.

“Give me a kiss?” says Donghyuck.

“Pucker your lips for me?” It’s just what Mark wants.

“Yeah.” Donghyuck does as he’s told. “I’m waiting.”

Mark kisses the screen, right where Donghyuck’s lips are. Donghyuck seems happy in the aftermath, but Mark feels no satisfaction whatsoever.

“You should come with me to Seoul.”

“I can’t, Mark. My brother—The business.”

“Fuck that.”

For a moment, Donghyuck’s screen freezes, his hand over his face. When he reconnects, he groans and curls his lip. “I can’t, Mark. I’ve thought about it, really. We could live together, and you’d play your music, and I’d—I dunno, I’d find some job at a store or whatever. And we’d go on dates at some fancy city place. We’d waste money on stupid things. I thought about what that would all be like, and it sounds amazing. But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Like I said.”

“I get it.” Mark sighs. “But you can’t blame me for asking. It’s just—Seoul will never feel like home if you’re not there with me. I already know it.”

There’s a lull in the air between them. Mark curls up, legs bent toward his stomach.

“Do you really love me that much?”

“Do you have to ask, Hyuck? I’m crazy about you”

Donghyuck brings the camera against his chest, so Mark can only see a tint of black.

“Are you gonna say anything?” Mark goes.

“You’re making me blush,” Donghyuck says.

Mark falters, “And you’re making me sad.”

The camera shifts, and Donghyuck returns, red in the face, one brow raised. “Marky—You’re not about to cry on me, are you?”

“I just might.”

“Then I better come over and comfort you.”

“Come over?” Mark looks around his room, to the heap of dirty clothes on his floor, socks hanging out of his drawer, his smelly sheets. “To my place?”

“For a change of scenery.”

“But—” He pulls the camera down and listens back for the murmur of the television outside. “My parents are here.”

“Doesn’t bother me one bit.”

Mark gulps. “How do you plan on going? Are you taking a bus—at this hour?”

“I’ll walk.”

“It might take you a whole hour, fuck. Donghyuck. Don’t do that.”

“Then meet me halfway.”

“And you’re gonna ride on my scooter? You hate that thing.”

“I do hate it, but like, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I just wanna see you. I’ll be okay.”

Donghyuck always knows how to get Mark’s heart to race and he always gets Mark to agree, on anything and everything.

They determine a halfway point in front of a meat shop, windows barred for the evening. Mark arrives there first, and when Donghyuck meets him, his face appears red from the cold. Mark runs his hands through Donghyuck’s hair, cups Donghyuck’s cheeks, and asks him if he’s fine.

Donghyuck nods and smiles, then sniffles. “I might’ve cried a bit, going here.”

“Now who’s the cry baby?”

“Me. I am.”

Mark laughs and kisses him sweetly, not caring if anyone might see. Donghyuck tastes the same; of course he does. His lips are chapped and his skin is chilly, but he still makes Mark feel warm.

They hop onto the scooter and with a smirk, Mark tells him to hold tight. Throughout the trip Donghyuck presses his hands against Mark’s stomach and he lets his head rest on Mark’s back. Mark has to smile, at that.

His parents are a single unit of furrowed eyebrows as soon as they arrive. Mark and Donghyuck stand awkwardly in the living room, while Mark’s mom and dad stay on their seats, sharing a look as Donghyuck bows.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Donghyuck says.

“You used to live on this street,” Mark’s father says. “Cheoljin’s son, right?”

“Ah, yes. That’s my dad.”

“Cheoljin’s son?” his mother goes. “You’re not the one who—”

The two share another look. Mark purses his lips.

“Yeah, well this is nice and all,” Mark says. “But Donghyuck and I need to, um—study. And like—write codes, or whatever.”

Mark takes Donghyuck by the arm and pulls him away from the situation. Having Donghyuck and his parents all in the same space is something he never thought would make him feel so discomfited. They were bound to say something that would make Donghyuck feel unwelcome, and Mark will have none of that.

So Mark slams the door to his room and leaves the negative feelings behind. They kiss as soon as they’re out of sight. Donghyuck pulls on Mark’s shirt and their feet drag across the room. Mark kicks away the dirty clothes on the floor and they stumble onto the bed. Erections rub against one another; Mark presses his whole weight against Donghyuck’s.

Mark seldom brings his boyfriends home — not Kanghoon, nor the other two guys he fucked as a nineteen-year-old. The other two weren’t his boyfriends, not really, but the point still stands. Donghyuck’s the first person he’s let into his mess of an abode, and he feels sorely embarrassed by the conditions he’s allowed Donghyuck to inhabit. Because of this, Mark tries to distract him by kissing him and running his hands against his thigh. And he whispers in his ear as he did on the night of their first kiss.

“Can I fuck you?” he says, which makes Donghyuck shiver.

“By all means,” says Donghyuck. “I cleaned myself before I left the apartment.”

“You did, did you?”

“I always wanna get fucked. Like, I think about it constantly. It’s embarrassing, and—goddammit, what I mean to say is—Just fuck me, _please_.”

They find a pace and volume that works for them. Mark lifts Donghyuck’s legs and he fucks him slow, covering Donghyuck’s mouth as he does. He lets his forehead rest on Donghyuck’s and he offers some puppy dog eyes before he gives him another strong thrust.

Donghyuck moans behind Mark’s hand, and Mark’s cock throbs at the sound. When he takes the hand away, Donghyuck says, “We should never fight—like, ever again.”

“I dunno—” Mark gives him a slow shove, and he feels Donghyuck’s ass expand. “The make-up sex feels awesome.”

“Oh, yeah—for sure.” Donghyuck tilts his head, whimpers, rolls back his eyes, “Mark, more, oh my god.”

Mark knows Donghyuck’s body like the back of his hand. He knows what makes him tick; he knows that he likes getting fucked on his back, and he likes being able to lock Mark in place with his legs. And Donghyuck loves having a whiff of Mark’s sweat, on his neck and his armpit. It’s something Mark has never understood, but he indulges Donghyuck, letting his boyfriend breathe him in.

Donghyuck inhales and lets out a whine that forces Mark to cover his mouth yet again. “That good?” Mark asks, and Donghyuck nods, looking at him with pleading eyes.

The sex lasts for an hour. Donghyuck cums untouched, after a particularly hard push that makes him go stiff. In the end, Mark slips out and jerks his length in front of Donghyuck’s face, coating Donghyuck’s tongue with his cum.

The aftermath is mostly cuddles and sticky kisses. Mark’s eyes water, as he gets to hold Donghyuck’s face again after all these lonesome weeks. He can’t imagine what it would be like to be away from Donghyuck for a longer stretch of time.

By midnight, the two of them sneak into the family bathroom and wash each other under a steaming hot shower. Insatiable as ever, Mark slips a finger into Donghyuck’s hole and Donghyuck moans, telling Mark he’s sore but he badly wants to get fucked again, “Is that weird?”

Mark kisses him, then licks his ear. “Maybe a little bit,” he says.

Unable to control themselves, Mark fucks him bare in the shower, his dick filling Donghyuck to the hilt in a single push. It’s quicker this time, and Donghyuck’s hands are flat on the shower walls. He’s in the throes of a second orgasm when he moans loud, “I can’t—This was a bad idea—But don’t stop, oh my god, _Mark_.”

Someone must have heard, but Mark cares very little. Sleep comes to them only an hour later, as their bodies grow weary from all the fucking.

When he wakes in the morning, he vaguely remembers a dream with Donghyuck, naked on top of him, humping him till they both came. It’s likely a result of three weeks of zero sex. His hard-on juts from the blanket, and when Donghyuck wakes, Mark is immediately met with a smirk. Mark gets a blowjob that snaps his brain in half, and he does the same with Donghyuck, though he offers him much more. He rims him and plays with Donghyuck’s nipples. He presses on his pelvis and massages the spots that make Donghyuck’s cock jump with excitement.

It’s a Friday so they’re supposed to have class, but they forget, as they fall asleep and twist in the bedsheets until noon. Mark’s parents are nowhere to be found at lunchtime, which allows Donghyuck and Mark to take another shower and scavenge for ingredients in the Lee family pantry. They find some pasta and sauce mix that Mark tries his best to help with, but Donghyuck pushes his hands away each time Mark tries to use the ladle.

“This is why you should come with me,” says Mark, hugging Donghyuck from behind while Donghyuck exerts his best not to make a mess of the sauce in the pot.

“So I can serve you food? No thanks.” Donghyuck gives the sauce a quick taste and has Mark take a sip from the spoon. Mark’s hands are still on Donghyuck’s stomach, and Donghyuck doesn’t seem to mind, as he offers Mark a smile when Mark licks his lips. Donghyuck’s mix is somewhat sweet; the smell sends a grumbling to Mark’s tummy.

They pull their chairs close together as they eat, and once they consume the spaghetti on their plates, Mark pats his lap and invites Donghyuck to sit. “I thought you’d never ask,” says Donghyuck, immediately setting his weight onto Mark.

Their hug is long and their eyes remain closed for a good ten minutes. Donghyuck holds Mark’s neck and tells Mark that he’s hot. In a few days, Mark will start preparing his final projects, and soon enough, he’ll be done with the course and will be able to say goodbye to life in the town. Three weeks left of school, another two weeks before Taeyong expects him.

“We’ll spend every day together till then,” Donghyuck says.

Mark uses a hand to press Donghyuck’s thigh. “I’ll quit my job. I’ve saved enough money now, I think.”

Donghyuck says he can do the same, “My brother’s keeping me busy anyway.”

There’s a lot that they don’t address, and Mark doesn’t want to bring anything up that might cause them to fight, fearful that Donghyuck might slip away from him even more. It already feels as though the ties binding them together have loosened.

But Donghyuck makes good on his promise and stays with Mark for the next few weeks, no different from what they’ve done in the past. They alternate between Donghyuck’s home and Mark’s, though they mostly have sex at Donghyuck’s, not wanting to cause any more trouble. Mark’s parents must know; Mark hears them murmur when they think he’s out of ear’s reach. But they never shoo Donghyuck away or make any comments. Instead, Mark’s mother even makes breakfast for them one morning when Donghyuck stays over. She asks about Donghyuck’s parents, and Donghyuck admits he hasn’t met them in a while. She nods and says she’s sorry for asking, “Your mother and I used to go to school together. She was a very rigid type of girl, back then.”

“She’s probably still the same,” says Donghyuck, smiling soft.

On a different day, Mark’s father asks Donghyuck if he likes to watch TV, and Donghyuck says he does, sometimes, though mostly on the internet these days. Mark’s father furrows his brows, not very familiar with the concept, and Donghyuck shows him his Netflix account on his phone, pointing to the shows he often watches. Mark’s father does an O-face and he berates Mark for not teaching him the joys of internet streaming sooner.

It baffles Mark how much they seem to like him.

“What can I say? I’m a charmer.” They’re at school, and Donghyuck stands by the door to his classroom, where Mark decides to join him before they absolutely have to part. 

“It’s like they’ve given us their blessing,” says Mark.

“Whether or not they give us their ‘blessing’—” He does air quotes on the last word. “It won’t matter.”

“I know that.”

“And do they even know you’re leaving, Mark?”

“I mean, kind of. My mom sort of implied she wants me to move out.”

“But like, have you talked to them? Properly talked to them?”

“It’s no use talking to them. They’ve made it very clear that they’re not very fond of me.”

Donghyuck bites the inside of his lip, then crosses his arms. He’s about to say something, but someone calls for him, telling him their teacher’s about to start. So they bid farewell, and Mark is left scratching his head, still confused by his parents’ behavior.

It’s the end of November. Taeyong calls and says he got a futon for Mark to sleep on, a space he’ll fill once he’s there in December. Mark thanks him for the gesture, though his feelings are as complicated as ever.

Mark enlists Donghyuck’s help to pack his things, and so they spend much of their time at Mark’s. His mother leaves them a snack on Saturday evening, a bowl of crackers that Mark takes to the bedroom. Donghyuck is the one to thank her, and she smiles at him, which makes Mark’s eyes roll all the way to the back of his head.

Donghyuck works on Mark’s underwear and comments that Mark knows very little of how to fold the things properly. Mark sits down on the floor and learns from him, thinking this is valuable knowledge that might help him remain on his cousin’s good side.

They’re invited to supper with Mark’s parents, and Mark’s heart pounds when he finds himself at the same table with his mom, dad, and Donghyuck.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time together, I see,” Mark’s father says.

“Ah, yeah,” says Mark. “He’s a good friend.”

“A friend?” His mother is disbelieving. “Do you really insist on lying to us, Mark?”

“We don’t care if you’re gay,” his father says. “We’ve known for a while. We even saw you with your ex-boyfriend.”

Mark stares at both of them, then he peers at Donghyuck, who’s using a fork to fiddle with the rice cakes on his plate.

“Okay, shit, you got us—yes, Donghyuck and I are together.”

“Are you in love?” His mother’s question induces a drop of sweat, a wetness against his temple.

“We are.” It’s Donghyuck who says it this time.”I love him very much, unfortunately.”

“Yes, most unfortunate.” His dad leans back, then sighs.

“Which isn’t to say that Mark isn’t good to me. Because he is. He’s the most caring person I’ve ever met.”

“Are you sure?” says his mother. “This man, right here? My son? Caring?”

“Yes, that’s why I’ve stuck with him for so long.”

Mark’s dad purses his lips and nods. His mother hums in amusement.

The rest of the dinner finishes in relative quiet. Donghyuck helps to wipe the table, and Mark helps his mother with the dishes.

Mark is wiping up a freshly washed bowl when his mother speaks, “You can’t let that one go.”

Mark eyes her, then nods, “I don’t plan to.”

“You seem happier with him than you ever were around me or your father.” She lathers another plate and scrubs it with a sponge.

“I’m sorry,” says Mark.

“It’s not your fault,” says his mother.

As the evening wanes, Donghyuck joins the whole family in the living room, a survival show flashed on the television. Mark’s parents are glued to the screen. He and Donghyuck share a look, and Donghyuck shrugs. His arm goes around Donghyuck’s shoulders and his parents never flinch. By the time the show finishes, both mother and father are snoozing, and Mark takes the opportunity to sneak Donghyuck a kiss. Donghyuck holds his hand and tells him they should take this back to the bedroom. They both nod and Mark lets himself get pulled along. There’s a pang in his stomach, a haze in his brain, a hitch at the center of his chest. As usual, they have sex into the night and Donghyuck’s arms are tight around Mark. They’ve done this so many times, in so many ways, and yet today, as the moonlight shines from Mark’s window, things have morphed into something new and unfamiliar.

* * *

**{part 4}**

Mark was seventeen the first time he realized he was gay, and he had both Yuta and Sicheng to thank for that.

One Saturday morning, he’d woken up at a house he didn’t recognize. He remembers scanning the room and seeing a pair of jerseys on the floor, a hamper full of sports clothes, a photo of the basketball team hanging on the wall in a yellow frame. He was wearing the same thing he had on the night before: a plain gray t-shirt and some loose jeans, too long for his legs.

The night before, Sicheng and Yuta pulled him to a party, where he’d gotten drunk with some kids from a higher grade. In his drunken state, Mark had pushed a guy down and Yuta had to stop him before things got heated. Though the heat was inevitable — just not quite the heat that Mark expected. By the end of the night, he was speaking to someone, someone he couldn’t quite place at the moment.

When he cracked open the door, he heard music from outside, as well as voices from down the stairs. He walked through a narrow hallway, with the sound of rock music growing louder as he approached the steps. 

He sighed when he found Yuta and Sicheng sucking face in the living room and making a mess of some couch cushions.

“Um, good morning?” Mark went, which gave the two boys a shock. And almost as soon as Mark said this, another person sauntered into the room — an older boy, Na Jaemin. Mark remembered him from the basketball team, which explained all the stuff in the bedroom.

“Morning!” Yuta went, grinning from ear to ear.

Jaemin stood at the other side of the room, smiling at Mark. “Morning,” he said, “Did you have a good sleep?”

Sicheng was red in the cheeks, and he wiped some bread crumbs that had fallen on his shirt. There were crumbs on Yuta’s lips as well, which Mark found gross.

“Uhh...” Mark was still processing the whole scene. “I guess so. I don’t remember much from, um.”

Jaemin chuckled, then he walked toward Mark, grabbing the hem of his shirt. “Lemme get another taste of this,” he said, then to Mark’s surprise, Jaemin started kissing him.

Mark was beat red, hot, when Jaemin pulled away. He looked at Yuta, who offered Mark a wink, and then he looked at Sicheng, who sighed and shrugged. When Mark glanced at Jaemin, he was looking at him expectantly, with a glimmer in his eyes that Mark suddenly thought was eerily familiar.

“You had fun last night, yeah?” Jaemin asked.

Blood rushed to Mark’s crotch. He stammered, not knowing what to say. He smiled, then he deadpanned, then he looked at his friends. They would later tell him he’d started flirting with Jaemin at the party, and that Jaemin was all for it — encouraged it even. He invited them to his house and Mark was insatiable, pulling Jaemin up to the bedroom.

They didn’t have sex, and Mark was embarrassed to even see him after that. He felt guilty, for a time, because he never knew these urges existed before. But there they were, awakened and untamed. Soon after, Mark started watching a buttload of gay porn, then when he turned eighteen, he made out with another boy at another party.

And then there was Donghyuck, who became an object of Mark’s fantasies as senior year began. He’d grown into his body, and he dyed his hair purple, something Mark would imagine pulling while they were both naked in his tawdry dreams.

When high school was over, the fantasies stopped, and he only realized the extent of his attraction three years later, when he met Donghyuck again at Dasan Vocational. But he did cross Mark’s mind, once or twice, as he passed his house on the street where they both used to live.

Yet again, Donghyuck becomes an untouchable fantasy. Two months into city life, Mark is jerking off non-stop to the thought of him. He rubs off his morning wood with Donghyuck in mind; he edges himself in the afternoon while looking at a picture he saved in his photostream: Donghyuck in bed, a blanket over his crotch, while he leers at the other boy taking the picture.

He doesn’t have a job yet, as he delayed his search in favor of practice with Taeyong and the band. Taeyong has a mini studio in their house-share, a bungalow in a busy district. They practice there on the weekends and evenings, so Mark has long hours to spare, time he uses to go to the gym or scan aimlessly through job boards online. There’s a tech position at a school that he finds mildly interesting, if only for the staggered hours. He sends an application, though he doesn’t expect they’ll get back to him anytime soon.

“Get up.” Taeyong kicks Mark, who lies flat on a mattress on the floor of his bedroom. There are tissues beside his bed, as he’d jerked off twice before falling asleep. Mark raises a hand, signals for Taeyong to give him five minutes, but Taeyong relents and says, “We’re going out, c’mon, you oaf.”

Taeyong pulls him up, and Mark groans as he rises to his feet. There are people in their living room, a tall guy in a blazer and v-neck, then a guy with clean-cut hair and a blue oxford shirt — Johnny and Doyoung respectively. They’re Taeyong’s friends and band members, who often join him to play music in the brick-laden streets of Hongdae. Wearing an old gray shirt and sweatpants, Mark finds he looks like a homeless man compared to them.

“Oof. Nice bed hair,” says Johnny, as he and Mark exchange a handshake and a bump on the shoulder.

Doyoung shows Mark the details for the party they’re attending at Channel 1969, “The band lineup’s supposed to be killer tonight.”

The digital poster has a list of performers: _Crawler,_ then _The Red Force_ , then _Dream Citizen,_ and the list goes on _._ There’s a picture of the place — the indoor stage, and all the young faces dressed to the nines.

 _“_ You’ll have to wear something nice,” Taeyong says, and Mark heaves out.

“I think I’ll stay, might need to get up early in the morning. Do some job hunting, you know.”

“Oh no no no,” says Taeyong. He points, “You have been sitting on your ass the past two months and I am not letting you spend another night holed up in this house.”

“I’ll help pick out his clothes,” says Johnny, then waltzes into Mark’s room.

“Hyung, don’t make me do this,” Mark says, while Doyoung joins Johnny in Mark’s bedroom.

Taeyong grabs Mark’s shoulders, turns his whole body around, and pushes Mark to get ready, telling Johnny and Doyoung to take care of him.

“You’re lucky you haven’t built up a gut, with all the sleeping you do,” says Doyoung, and pulls out a floral shirt from Mark’s closet. “This’ll do fine, don’t you think, Johnny?”

They strip Mark down and Mark stands there passively, shivering from the cold while Johnny and Doyoung fight over Mark’s jeans. A green pair is their final decision, something Mark seldom wore and only brought in case of important events.

Taeyong’s smoking a blunt when Johnny and Doyoung pull Mark back into the living room.

“Ta-da,” says Johnny, and wiggles his fingers in the air. Taeyong blows out a smoke, sizes him up, and nods. Mark thinks he looks ridiculous, especially if he stands next to Taeyong, who’s a stunner in his leather jacket, leather pants, all black.

They drive to the venue in Johnny’s car, a secondhand sedan that still doesn’t have bluetooth or GPS. Taeyong sits on the passenger seat and puts in a record from an artist called MoonTae, who’s supposed to be playing tonight at the club. Mark likes the music enough; it’s jazzy and the vocals are smooth. In his head, he’s forming the words to his own song. He has a spiral notebook back in the house, full of half-baked thoughts he has yet to put together.

At the party, Mark doesn’t expect there to be so many couples. He finds one at the bar, a girl playing with her boyfriend’s hands while Mark tries to order a pint of beer. One of the musicians kisses his girlfriend before he goes on the stage, and then he tells the audience his song is dedicated to her, _to my Ryujin_. Even Johnny finds a girl to flirt with, much to Taeyong’s chagrin, who tells Johnny to focus instead on finding someone who can help them get a gig.

The girl tells Taeyong to lighten up and Taeyong flares up, taking Doyoung with him when he leaves for the bar. Mark is left to fend for himself and observe, watch the next set, buy himself another beer, while another pair of lovers use the bar space to make out. There’s a guy with rose-colored hair in the corner of the room whom Mark thinks is making eyes at him, but Mark is a taken man, so he finds no interest whatsoever.

“I think I might know you,” comes a voice, as Mark sits at the bar. Beside him is the guy with red hair, body slender and tall.

It takes a minute for Mark to realize what the guy means.

“Lee Mark? You’re Lee Mark right?”

“Jaemin?” says Mark. “Oh, fuck. It’s you. You look—”

“Different? Must be my eye-catching style.” Jaemin smiles then purses his lips.

“How’ve you been, man?” Mark asks, though he fears he might have an inkling about what Jaemin might want.

“Been good. I’m playing tonight _,_ this is what I do now.”

“Oh, shit. Which band?”

“Dream Citizen,” says Jaemin. “We’re going last. We’re pretty good, I think. I play the keyboard.”

“Damn.” Mark smiles. “I’ll be sure to stay and watch.”

Jaemin returns the smile, “You’re looking good, Mark. You working out?”

“Ah.” Mark blushes, then looks down at his arms. “Kind of. I try to keep fit.”

Jaemin tries to cop a touch, but then Mark holds out a hand. “Woah, man. I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Jaemin pouts. “It’ll be like old times. Well, that one time at least.”

“Nah, man. I have a boyfriend.”

“So what? Everyone fucks around these days.” Jaemin leans in, whispering in Mark’s ear, “Let me take you to the restroom. We can make it quick, for old time’s sake.”

Mark swallows. Jaemin’s a handsome fellow; he’s not going to lie. But then he’s not about to break Donghyuck’s trust, not in a million years.

Jaemin pretends it’s okay when Mark rejects him, but then he turns around and pulls a sour expression when he’s back with his friends.

Mark finds Taeyong and Doyoung by the stage later, while they talk to the woman in charge of the setlist. The woman is serious, even though Doyoung is trying to humor her and compliment her glasses. Taeyong, meanwhile, matches her tone and asks what it will take for them to get a gig at this club.

“I’ll let you know when we have auditions.” She takes a pen off her ear. “Give me your number and email.”

Dream Citizen plays next and as Jaemin promised, they end up being good, the best of the night in Mark’s opinion. Their lead singer is Chinese, a guy who introduces himself as Huang Renjun. The guy on the drums is a muscly looking fellow, who taps his sticks before Jaemin starts to play and Renjun starts to sing. He raps the first verse, and he sways his body as he gets into a more melodic part of the song.

Donghyuck would probably love them. Mark thinks about this, as he sips another beer, and as he sees a white guy hugging his Korean girlfriend from behind, then a couple of girls laughing together, drinking their glasses of wine. And then there are two guys, whom Mark swears are about to kiss when he enters the restroom, as he finds them too close for comfort in front of the mirror.

Mark makes his way outside when it all becomes too much. It’s freezing, the coat he brought feeling too thin for the weather. He texts Taeyong and tells him he left, knowing Taeyong won’t be checking until much later. Mark wanders the streets. Somehow, each couple he encounters becomes a strain to his eyes. An older couple is enjoying an ice cream cone under the pink lights of a dessert shop, and then a girl and boy about his age give each other a quick kiss as they exit the doors of a barbecue, open late at night on a Friday.

Mark thinks twice when he’s about to enter a burger joint, as he finds two couples in line. Instead, Mark finds a noodle shop where he can have a seat hidden from view. It’s one of those places where you can’t even see the servers: You ring a bell, then they open the blinds so you can give them a paper with your order. Soon enough, Mark has a steaming bowl of miso ramen. The food makes him miss Donghyuck’s cooking, the salty taste of his egg soup, the spicy kick of his ramyun.

In the train, Mark drowns out all the sounds with a pair of earphones, and he hums a tune by Sam Kim, _Sunny Days, Summer Nights._

When Mark arrives home, he has a message from Taeyong — a single emoji, thin eyes and a straight line for a mouth. Doyoung sends him a text as well, saying they might have an audition for next week, so they’ll have to practice again as soon as tomorrow.

Mark lies in bed and opens a picture of Donghyuck on his phone. He’s been trying to lessen the number of times he calls him up. The first week here, Mark called him every day, face-timed him, whispered sweet nothings into his phone in place of actual sex. Donghyuck must be asleep now, and he must be tired from working all day at the baking goods shop. He’s on a term break from school, so he’s mostly busy managing the new venture, which Donghyuck’s brother pushed for an early opening. Donghyuck still has a term left for his entrepreneurship course, but his brother was persistent about starting the business as early as possible.

The last time he had Donghyuck on a video call, Donghyuck stripped for Mark in front of his laptop. Mark remembers it well: Donghyuck’s tank top falling down his shoulders, the way he unzipped his jeans, the way he looked at Mark with so much longing.

The image is enough to keep Mark fed for days. Mark slips a hand into his boxers and he rubs himself, for the third or fourth time that day. His cock throbs in his hands as he imagines how Donghyuck used to impale himself on Mark and how much Donghyuck wanted so much to please Mark, make him scream.

The next day, Mark has the happiest illusion when he wakes, as he sees Donghyuck sitting beside him, typing something on his cellphone, his hair a mop of black. The sight is familiar, as he often woke up to this when he was still back home.

“What a nice dream,” says Mark, curling his head against Donghyuck’s leg. He feels Donghyuck touch Mark’s head, and it all feels too real, and warm—and weirdly painful, since dream Donghyuck has decided to pull on Mark’s hair.

“This isn’t a dream, dummy. Wake up.”

Mark’s eyes widen, and his head snaps up. He gawks at the person next to him.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

“Language, dear.”

Springing up, Mark takes Donghyuck’s face and looks at him closely. Donghyuck’s eyes wander, while Mark stares him straight.

Mark presses their foreheads together and continues to scan the other boy, his pupils and the dots on his cheeks. It’s Donghyuck who dares to lean in first and kiss Mark, his fingers pulling on Mark’s shirt.

The kiss becomes fiercer as the seconds go by, and Mark pushes Donghyuck down so he can lock Donghyuck against his weight. He pushes his tongue against Donghyuck’s, not caring that he might have morning breath, a stark contrast from the minty taste in Donghyuck’s mouth.

“Are you clean?” Mark whispers, which makes Donghyuck smirk and call him a horny boy. Exactly what Mark is, so he has no qualms about the label.

Mark can barely control the sounds that leave his mouth when he presses into Donghyuck’s hole. A pair of muscled legs wraps themselves around Mark’s back, an all too familiar feeling.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” says Mark. “So tight around me. It’s like I’m fucking you for the first time.”

Donghyuck whines loud and nods profusely. He grasps his erection and barely forms any words as a reply, “I’m so happy—So happy, Mark.”

Mark thrusts hard. “Happy I can fuck you like this again?”

“Yes, yes. Happy you still fit. It’s only been my finger for so long.”

“You think about me, huh? You finger yourself thinking about this cock?” Mark gets braver, louder, fucking Donghyuck until he shakes.

Suddenly, there’s loud music coming from outside the room. Mark laughs, knowing Taeyong must be miserable. Donghyuck whimpers when Mark slows, meeting the pace of the drumming from the music. “Scream as loud as you want,” says Mark, knowing Taeyong will kill him for it later.

Donghyuck hesitates, but after a particularly hard shove, he has no choice but to comply. If Mark knows anything, it’s how to make Donghyuck moan.

Body broken, Mark falls on Donghyuck as soon as he cums. The scent of the room is heady. Donghyuck himself is covered in a layer of sweat, half of which is Mark’s. Mark examines Donghyuck closely, still in disbelief that he’s actually here. Donghyuck looks peaceful, eyes closed, breathing slow. Mark kisses Donghyuck’s neck, in place of asking any questions. Those can wait; right now, all he wants is another taste of Donghyuck, because he feels like he’s forgotten, even though it’s only been two months.

Donghyuck explains himself once they wake from a short nap. He’s here in the city for a week’s vacation and he didn’t tell Mark because he wanted it to be a surprise. Though he did let Taeyong know, through a message on Facebook, where they became friends exactly two weeks ago after Donghyuck friended him.

“Well shit,” says Mark. “This is making me really happy.”

They cuddle on the mattress, Mark keeping his crotch right against Donghyuck’s ass. He might get hard again and he wants Donghyuck to know when he does.

“I heard you don’t have a job yet?” Donghyuck says.

“About that.” Mark hides his face behind Donghyuck’s neck and tries to distract him by rubbing at his stomach.

“Mark, you have got to start taking your life seriously.”

“Yeah, I missed this.”

“What?”

“I miss how much you care for me.”

Donghyuck cranes his neck. “Do not change the subject.”

“I’m gonna do what you say, don’t worry about it.” Mark inches closer and lets their lips press together. “I already sent an application yesterday. Might send another one today.”

“Oh.” Donghyuck holds Mark’s arm, caressing him. “You do that. And later, maybe you could show me around the city.”

“Barely remember how to get to the supermarket, but yeah. Okay.”

“Hopeless as ever I see.”

Eventually, they have to leave the room, though they delay this until lunchtime. Taeyong’s left them a note, letting them know that he needed to go to work and that he made them rice and bulgogi beef, packed in individual tupperwares. Mark brings them out of the fridge and heats them in the microwave.

Donghyuck takes a bite and his eyes light up, “Mm. That’s good shit. How come he never taught you to do this when you were little?”

“People always try. I’m kinda useless with these things. I’ve come to accept that.”

“I did not miss this.”

“What do you mean?”

“The _I’m so useless_ crap. You can do anything you set your mind to, Lee Mark.”

“We’re talking about cooking here.”

“Yeah, and since we’re gonna be together for the long run, you better fucking learn.”

For that comment alone, Mark considers how he might practice. There’s bound to be a class he can take — maybe even online — though his wallet might very well suffer.

Donghyuck and Mark head out late in the afternoon, after Mark works out an initial itinerary for their day. He texts Taeyong and asks where he thinks it might be good to take Donghyuck. In turn, Taeyong provides a list of different tourist sites that might be workable for an afternoon and evening.

They take the subway toward Dongdaemun, where Mark takes Donghyuck to shop at the design plaza, a towering orb-like structure that overwhelms Mark just as much as Donghyuck.

“Didn’t you go to uni in a city?” Mark asks. He knows Donghyuck briefly went to Daegu Uni, though that was a year Donghyuck barely talked about.

“Yeah, but like—” Donghyuck stares at a pamphlet for an art exhibit, portraits from the artists of Disney, imported all the way from California. “This place is something else.”

They have a snack at a foodcourt in the basement floor, where they have parfaits and iced coffee served with whipped cream. Neither Mark nor Donghyuck have had anything similar in the past, so they both gobble the fruits and ice cream in rapid spoonfuls.

Afterward, Donghyuck vibrates with excitement when they find a record store that sells some of his favorite artists: Paul Kim, HYUKOH, and Zion.T. Mark counts the money in his wallet to see how much he can contribute, and finds he can buy Donghyuck two if he’s still to pay for dinner. He brings out a few bills and Donghyuck furrows his brows, tries to reject him, but Mark forces him to take the money anyway.

Crowds overrun the streets and shops everywhere they go, so Mark is pained as he’s unable to grab Donghyuck’s hand and do what he always dreamed of doing once he got Donghyuck to come to the city. But they do let their hands brush against one another’s, and they sneak quick looks at each other, small smiles, a blush every now and then as they go through shops, as they waste more money on a pair of matching gold bracelets that Donghyuck finds cool.

Before dinner, they ride a train to the city center and they debate whether to eat somewhere Western or somewhere more close to home. Donghyuck prefers the latter, so Mark concedes. A restaurant called the Jongro Fire Pig is one of few places that isn’t full on a busy weekend. Donghyuck eats a copious amount of oily pork and admits this means they won’t be having much sex that night, which makes Mark blush and wave a hand, “Don’t even think about that.”

Once they finish, they take a stroll through the Cheonggyecheon Stream, where couples and groups of friends sit on the steps leading down to the water. The night darkens, but city lights keep the place bright. There’s a Christmas tree on a bridge above the stream, a remnant of the holidays. They stand by a man-made waterfall, where some lanterns hang above on thin black strings. People murmur and busy themselves with their selfie sticks; Mark and Donghyuck decide to take a single picture with their faces smushed together.

They discover a spot at a less scenic section where they get to be alone on some steps under a bridge, dimly lit. The flow of the stream becomes the only sound as they sit with their legs close, their hands clasped together.

When Mark takes a whiff of Donghyuck’s hair, he discovers the smokey smell of the grill still stuck to his body. Likely the same for him, but he hugs Donghyuck anyway and they share a few more moments of silence basking in each other’s warmth. They kiss for a time, their lips tender against one another’s until they hear footsteps. A mother and child pass, and Mark slumps down, pretending to doze off, while Donghyuck laughs, patting his back.

“So a week, huh?” says Mark.

“Ah, no actually. I think I might leave tomorrow instead.”

“Asshole. You don’t mean it.”

“Of course I don’t.” Donghyuck smiles and sets his chin on his knees.

By nine-thirty, they head home via train, Mark holding on to the handgrip while Donghyuck leans beside the doors. Mark has an excuse to lean forward when more people enter, so he’s directly breathing on Donghyuck’s face for half the trip.

“Bad breath,” says Donghyuck, wincing. Mark smirks and blows into Donghyuck’s face.

There’s music playing when they arrive home, and they discover Johnny and Doyoung hanging out in Taeyong’s studio — a portion of his bedroom where he put all his instruments and recording gear. Mark says Donghyuck is his friend, not sure how else Donghyuck wants to be introduced. Donghyuck seems fine with it, as he shakes hands and exchanges pleasantries with Johnny and Doyoung.

“So yet another country boy, huh?” says Johnny. “You look pretty urban to me.”

“Oh my god Johnny,” says Doyoung, palm on his face.

“Dasan’s not some hick town,” Donghyuck says. “We just have fewer clubs and fewer restaurants. And more scenery — though that might depend on where you’re from.”

“Have you been practicing?” Mark asks Taeyong, who’s sitting on a stool, guitar in hand.

“Ah, yeah,” says Taeyong. “You can join us tomorrow, it’s no problem.”

“Ooh, can I watch?” says Donghyuck, eyes wide.

Mark glances at Donghyuck, then Taeyong, who rolls his eyes and laughs, “Dude, of course you can watch. It’ll be nice to have an audience.”

Donghyuck is overjoyed, grabbing Mark by the elbow, a reaction that sends Johnny’s eyebrow up. Doyoung asks if Mark has ever made Donghyuck listen to their songs, and Donghyuck shakes his head, saying Mark never has. “He’s secretive about this shit.”

Taeyong smiles, “Then I bet you’ll be in for a ride.”

Mark sweats from the pressure. In bed, he tells Donghyuck not to expect too much and Donghyuck frowns. He’s seen Mark play before—So how would he be disappointed?

Over the next few days, Donghyuck is a constant at their practice and he gets to see Mark on the electric guitar for the first time. Mark, Taeyong, and Johnny all sing, but Doyoung’s got the best voice, so he’s unofficially nominated to be their lead vocalist. Taeyong and Mark sing backup, and Taeyong does a few verses in spoken word. Johnny remains silent as he works the keyboard.

They first do an acoustic cover of Hyukoh’s Wi Ing, and then they do an original song called Be By My Side. They do Mark’s song, A Shining Heart, with Mark doing the vocals for a single verse. Donghyuck sits at the corner of a room, wrapped in a blanket, and he hides his face with said blanket when Mark sings.

“So embarrassing,” he goes, when they’re finished. Doyoung and Johnny each look at Mark with an eyebrow arched. Taeyong knows all about the song, so he can only roll his eyes.

They all eat supper together at a pub called Covent, where they play some darts as they wait for their chicken wings. The resident all-woman band plays an English song by Blondie, and Donghyuck sings along in a quiet voice once he gets a hang of the repeating lyrics. He’s about to throw a dart when the music changes and he lights up when he learns it’s a Black Skirts song, so he’s able to sing in a louder voice.

Taeyong comments that Donghyuck has a nice vocal color, and Donghyuck says he knows, “Mark and I used to hold our own concerts.”

“What?” Taeyong looks bemused, eyebrows knitted. He has a plastic cup in one hand, beer half-finished.

“He means in his bedroom,” says Mark, who’s trying hard not to spill his own beer. “He and I—well, we used to do this thing where we pretended to be on stage even though no one was watching.”

“That’s about the dorkiest thing I’ve ever heard my whole life.

“Well, we’re dorks,” says Donghyuck. He inspects his surroundings. Doyoung and Johnny are back at their table, already eating. “Did Mark ever tell you about our first kiss?”

“Dude, don’t even.”

“I wanna hear,” says Taeyong.

“Basically, we had just gone out on this—not-date. Was it a date, Mark? Anyway. We went to this pizza place, right, and then I asked him to come home with me. And then we were there, it was pretty quiet, and then suddenly there was this fire! Couple blocks from where I live. And we went outside, and we watched, while smoke clouded the whole street.”

“There were firetrucks,” says Mark.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Donghyuck. “And then he was like—wouldn’t it be great if we kissed in the middle of this fire?”

“Donghyuck, that was you. You said that.”

“Oh.” Donghyuck thins his eyes, thinking. “I guess it _was_ me. Anyway. We kissed while a fire raged. It stunk and I’m pretty sure one of my neighbors saw. But like, it was great. And he was like _Donghyuck, you taste so good_ or some shit.” He throws a dart, and it lands right at the center. “And that was the night I realized something very important."

The last part isn’t something Mark knows. His heart races at what Donghyuck is about to say.

“What exactly did you realize?” It’s Taeyong who asks, glancing at both of them.

“Oh. Didn’t mean to say that part.” He looks at Mark, and his cheeks turn red. “Probably something I should tell Mark in private.”

“My god. What was the point of this?”

Taeyong huffs and leaves them by the dartboards. Mark scratches the back of his neck and he regards Donghyuck as he throws another dart, this time landing on the wall, not even touching the board.

“You missed.”

“No duh.”

“Are you gonna tell me what you realized?”

“In private, Mark. I’ll tell you in _private_.”

“Did you realize I was the hottest piece of meat you ever got to taste?”

Donghyuck cocks up a brow. “Uh, Marky, we didn’t do it that night. Now who’s the forgetful one?”

“Right.” Mark smirks. He remembers well.

“And—” He sizes Mark up, top to bottom. “I’ve had much hotter guys than you.”

“You’re joking.”

“No I’m not.” Donghyuck pats Mark’s face and walks away. Mark wants to strangle him — though in a kinky way. Choke him and fuck him sideways, that kind of thing.

Two hours later, Donghyuck and Mark separate themselves from the group and find a spot at a cafe where they can sober up and drink coffee. They sit beside each other on some high stools. No one else is around except a girl who’s fallen asleep over an open book. Mark rests his head on the table and he stares up at Donghyuck, who lazily sips on an iced macchiato.

“I like it here,” says Donghyuck.

“In the coffee shop?”

“In this city.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice. When I got here, I was shocked by just the sheer amount of what you could actually do. Not that I did much, mostly stayed indoors. But it’s crazy—I just knew if I walked outside, there’d be some activity, waiting for me. Though like I said, I never had a lot of drive to do anything.”

“Because I wasn’t here?”

Mark nods, head still sideways. “But I did go to the gym.”

“I can tell.”

“And I’ve been trying to look for a job, I really have.”

“You should do more things, even if I’m not here. It’ll keep you sane.”

“It’s harder than it sounds.”

“I know—It’s lonely.” Donghyuck sets down his drink and rubs his face. “Fuck, I think I’m still tipsy.”

“You and me both,” says Mark. He raises his head and examines their surroundings. The baristas are busy chatting, and the girl at the other table still sleeps. Mark leans in and gives Donghyuck a kiss at the edge of his lips, another quick one, another soft one.

The thought of Donghyuck all alone back home sends a tinge of sadness into Mark’s heart. He may end up a broken record, but he wants to tell Donghyuck, again, that he should move here so they can start a life together.

“I guess I should tell you now,” says Donghyuck. His face becomes hazy after the kiss, and he struggles to put the straw back in his mouth.

“Oh, right. I almost forgot.”

“So that night—the first night we kissed. I was gonna say it was the night I realized I wanted to, um.”

Mark pulls up his elbow so he can rest his head on his palm. “Go on.”

“This is gonna sound stupid, but take note, I was in love with you since we were kids so this isn’t technically all that weird.”

“What is it? Tell me, Donghyuck.”

“I can’t say it! Geez. This is harder than I thought!”

His voice grows loud; the girl from the other table suddenly wakes. The baristas cast a glance at them, concerned, but then Mark tells them it’s nothing.

Donghyuck opens his palm on the table, “Hold my hand.”

Mark follows and feels the dampness of Donghyuck’s palm.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I decided—back then, that I’d spend the rest of my life with you.”

“That’s it?”

Donghyuck frowns. “What do you mean _that’s it_? That took a lot of courage to say.”

“No, I know. I get it. But like—we’ve been together two years now, close to three. And I don’t just consider you my boyfriend anymore. The word _boyfriend_ just doesn’t fit what you are, to me.”

“Ok, I’m gonna ask you to stop talking.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re gonna say something completely embarrassing and I’m not ready.”

Donghyuck’s his family. Mark may have never said it out loud before, but that’s what Donghyuck is. He’s been more of a family than his parents ever were, and if the past two years are anything to go by, he knows Donghyuck will be the type of person to be there for Mark through thick and thin. For richer or poorer.

“I’ll be ready when we get home, so tell me then.” Donghyuck eyes him and Mark smiles. Their hands are still together, and Mark’s heart feels like it’s about to burst.

In bed that night, they’re both red-cheeked, crotches pressed against the other’s. Mark admits to Donghyuck that he thinks of him not as a boyfriend but as a _husband,_ and this alone makes Donghyuck moan. They’re holding hands the whole night, with Mark pressing into Donghyuck in an unhurried manner, now that he knows they have all the time in the world to do anything they desire.

In the morning, Mark finds the nerve and he asks Donghyuck if, by any chance, he would want to stay. Donghyuck lifts a hand to tuck Mark’s hair behind his ear. He sighs, and nods.

Mark’s eyes go wide.

“But we’ve got to get our own apartment,” says Donghyuck.

“Oh. Right. Fuck, of course.”

“And you’ve got to tell your parents.”

“What? Them? Why them?”

“Because they miss you.”

“Alright, fine. Anything else?”

“I still have to finish school.”

“Of course, of course.”

Donghyuck curses and slaps a hand to his eyes. “Hyunseo hyung’s gonna kill me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not. You’re ecstatic.”

Mark isn’t about to lie another time. He rises and paces around the room, then clenches his fists above his head before kneeling. His hands move to cover his face. “Oh my god, shit fucking hell. This is really happening.”

“I still have to enlist, you know.”

Mark splits his fingers and looks at Donghyuck, whose face is illumined by the sun rays coursing inside the room. “Do you really have to bring that up?”

“I’m just being real,” he says. “But it won’t be so bad. I’ll get to spend my holidays with you. And I’ll get to wear a snazzy uniform.”

“Ok, yeah, that’ll definitely be hot.”

“Damn right.” Donghyuck lifts the blanket, exposing his thighs. He looks at Mark, expectant. “The thought’s making you kinda horny, isn’t it?”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re hard. I can see it through your sweatpants. C’mon, Mark. Don’t you want me to suck you off?”

“Fuck, of course.” Mark gets ready to pull down the garter of his pants. “But you better be ready, I got a lot stored in ‘ere.”

Donghyuck licks his lips. “I wouldn’t expect any less.”

They spend the morning in each other’s arms; the better of half of the day, they spend it on another tour, this time to the Gyeongbokgung Palace, where they take a lot of selfies with the royal courtyard and fortress as their backdrops.

At night, they go to Hongdae where Taeyong, Johnny, and Doyoung set up their instruments in the middle of the brick pavement. Mark does a quick test of the electric guitar and Donghyuck tells him he’s weirdly excited, to which Mark smiles. Mark is bobbing his head as he plays, and Donghyuck cheers and claps like an idiot, much to Taeyong’s annoyance. Around them are onlookers who throw coins and wrinkled bills into Mark’s guitar bag as the performance progresses.

In a few days, Donghyuck has to leave. Mark cries on his shoulder and all Donghyuck has to say is that Mark is being ridiculous, yet again. The parting isn’t easy; the being apart is even more difficult. But Donghyuck calls almost every day, and he gives Mark a play by play of the things that go on with his brother, who’s surprisingly understanding of Donghyuck’s situation. Then Donghyuck reminds Mark to talk to his parents, a predicament that Mark has been trying to delay.

A week later, Mark starts a job at a primary school, where he’s hired part-time for tech support. It keeps him busy in the day, while practice with Taeyong keeps him awake in the evening. It’s not until the weekend when he decides to do a video call with his parents, to whom he speaks for an awkward twenty minutes, letting them know what he’s been up to these past few months.

“Donghyuck’s coming to live with me,” he tells them, then he promises to send them a picture once he’s found a good apartment.

“You’re not gonna find anything you can afford,” his mother says, ever the optimist. “You better stay at your cousin’s for longer.”

“Your uncle tells me you haven’t even visited,” his father says. “You call him, Mark. Don’t be disrespectful.”

Mark sighs. He’s not used to his parents speaking to him in coherent sentences. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

In the evening, Mark has a gig at Channel 1969, where his band goes after Dream Citizen. Jaemin from high school is there again, drunk out of his ass, but still magnificent when he gets on the keyboard. If Donghyuck were here, he’d surely enjoy the spectacle.

Things somehow go exactly as Mark anticipates. In a few months, Donghyuck arrives, sporting a new hairstyle, strawberry blonde with platinum highlights. Mark pulls on it when he sees him, berating him for using cheap-looking hair dye. “Your hair will get damaged, sooner or later.”

Their studio apartment is empty when they arrive, the sun beaming into an unfurnished living room. Mark paid for the deposit with two months worth of his salary, for which Donghyuck promises he’ll pay half. He found the place through Taeyong’s friend, which is yet another addition to the long list of things Mark owes his cousin. They’re in a quiet neighborhood, far from the city center. The commute’s a bust, so Mark plans to buy a secondhand car very soon. He misses his scooter, which his dad already sold, and he misses Donghyuck’s old bedroom, the futon where they first kissed, where they first had sex, where they used to laugh, and cry, and sing along to music from Donghyuck’s tiny speakers.

But this place is another first, a new start. Here, they’ll make memories that will last them a lifetime.

Once they’re settled down, Donghyuck brings out a gift, a box he wraps in a floral yellow. When Mark opens it, he finds a framed photo of the two of them from when they started dating. Mark is in a gray shirt he recognizes well, while Donghyuck’s in a collared pastel blue, his face closer to the camera. Behind them, Donghyuck’s old apartment is clear: The door to the bathroom, the foldable table, his pantry shelf, the dresser drawer. Donghyuck tells Mark they should put it up in their new kitchen, perhaps above the sink. 

Mark sits down on the floor and holds it out, staring at the image. Donghyuck tells him not to get emotional, but Mark can’t help it.

Worried as always, Donghyuck looks down on him.

“Don’t mind me,” says Mark, smiling up, “You don’t need to worry about me anymore.”

“I know that,” says Donghyuck, kneeling. “But I’ll always be worried about you. More so now.”

For the longest time, Mark felt as though his own life was a burden, a weight on his back, an ambiguous reverie that had little direction. He moved through time and space like a speck of dust, unimportant. A good future can never be assured to him, he knows that much. He has a long way to go with his career, his music, and all the personal aspects of his life that have yet to be ironed out. His fists are used to the trials life throws at him, but unlike before, he feels he can fight through anything this time. Without words, Mark tries telling Donghyuck everything he’s thinking with a single look. With eyes of concern, Donghyuck asks him: _Are you okay?_ And Mark nods, laughs, looks at the picture. This time, he is. The answer is sure and solid.

“I’m happy,” Mark says,

“Then I’m happy too,” Donghyuck says, and that’s the end of that.

**fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up on twitter [@lc_sweetwine](https://twitter.com/lc_sweetwine)
> 
> Comments/kudos appreciated. If you finished this, I automatically love you <3


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